Bobby Blanchard, Lesbian Gym Teacher Read online

  The players were taking their positions for the bully. The Holy Martyrs had replaced the brawny center with a wiry redhead.

  “Pretty good,” Bobby told the Math Mistress.

  A groan rose from the stands as the redhead flipped the ball over Kayo’s stick. Already the swift Holy Martyr forwards were running parallel to her as she dribbled and dodged up the field.

  “What was Miss Craybill doing just now?”

  Sue Howard tackled the redhead, forcing her to pass. Joyce just managed to intercept.

  “Miss Craybill? What are you talking about?”

  “She was standing around the corner from you, while you were talking to Dot,” said Enid. “She looked so queer—like the night we interrupted the séance.”

  The freckled girl with the squint had tackled Joyce, stealing the ball while Joyce fell backwards. “Foul!” cried Lotta shrilly.

  “I didn’t even know she was there,” Bobby said. “She—oh my gosh, she must have heard me accuse Dot of murdering Miss Froelich!”

  She turned and looked to see where Dot had gone. The two-faced blonde was climbing the path to the quadrangle. As Bobby watched, she saw Miss Craybill walking briskly after her.

  A shout from the stands made her whip around. Evidently the Martyrs had shot on goal. Edie blocked the ball, but a Holy Martyr scooped up the rebound.

  “Bobby, I think Miss Craybill’s gone haywire again,” Enid was saying, “What are we going to do?”

  A shrill whistle and a roar from the crowd. Shirley had the ball, not ten yards from Metamora’s goal. As Bobby watched, she managed to pass to Annette on the sidelines.

  “Maybe…” Bobby shot a look at the path. Miss Craybill had caught up to Dot and the two women were conversing. “Do you think maybe the Headmistress just wants to talk to her?” Bobby suggested weakly, her eyes pulled back to the ball.

  “Oh, forget it!” exploded Enid. “Go back to your game. I can prevent murder without you. I don’t know why I even bothered…” Her words trailed off as she ran along the edge of the field to the path.

  Bobby took a few hurried steps after her, and then stopped and looked back. Angle had the ball now. Bobby looked toward Enid. The Math Mistress was jogging with evident fatigue up the path, after Miss Craybill and Dot. Angle was dribbling up the field. Bobby felt like she was in some horrible nightmare, unable to move either after Enid or back to the game. Angle passed to Kayo. Bobby’s thoughts darted around like minnows in shallow water. Miss Craybill was surely out for revenge—Kayo was passing back to Angle—Dot would be desperate—the Holy Martyr halfbacks were tackling—Enid would be caught between a crazed Headmistress and a killer—

  “I would hypothesize that she used an over-the-counter emetic.” Miss Rasphigi had come up behind Bobby and stood next to her now, watching the game with her usual cold disinterest. “This looks like a very tiring activity.”

  The spell that held Bobby transfixed was broken. “Miss Rasphigi, I have to step away. Fill in for me, will you?” She was moving as she spoke. The Holy Martyrs’ goalie stopped Angle’s shot and Metamora’s cheering section booed. Bobby was halfway to the path, when she called, “Remind them to use the Twist Push-Pass Feint!”

  And then she turned and ran.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Winners and Losers

  When she reached the quad, it was empty. Bobby looked both ways, and a flicker of movement caught her eye—the door to Kent slowly closing. Had Miss Craybill taken Aunt Dot to her office? On what pretext had she lured the murderous gambler to the deserted building?

  Inside Kent the empty hallway stretched dimly before her. The turnout for the game had really been terrific, Bobby thought with a stab of pride. Everyone was there. Well, not quite everyone. She heard a retching noise from the infirmary. Poor Penny. From farther down the corridor came the faint sound of footsteps.

  She hurried in the direction of the sound and stopped at an intersecting corridor, looking in all directions. Nothing. With fevered haste, she began opening and closing doors. The faculty lounge—empty; a broom closet, likewise. The third door revealed the stone spiral staircase that led to the tower. Bobby stopped in dismay.

  The sound of heels on stone echoed down the hollow cylinder of the tower, and Bobby could even hear the faint sound of voices.

  Bobby’s tennis shoes made no noise as she climbed the steps. She craned her ears. By some trick of acoustics, fragments of conversation reached her clearly only to fade away into an indistinct mumble. “Plaque in her honor,” she heard Miss Craybill say before her voice melted into meaningless sounds. There was a silvery peal of laughter—whose?—then Aunt Dot’s voice, “…happy to contribute, as you know…” Where was Enid?

  Perhaps all Miss Craybill was after was a hefty donation from a wealthy alumna, Bobby tried to tell herself. Perhaps that was all the revenge the Headmistress wanted. Yet if that were true, surely Dot could write a check on the ground as easily as at the top of the tower!

  A creak and a clatter told her that Miss Craybill and Aunt Dot had reached the top and were opening the door. Their voices faded away completely, and now Bobby heard more footsteps, muffled ones, doggedly plodding, not like the sound of Dot’s pumps or Miss Craybill’s old-fashioned lace-ups. Enid’s penny loafers, perhaps?

  “Enid!” Bobby called softly.

  There was no response. Bobby ran up the remaining stairs, two steps at a time. The open door was a square of bright light above her now. She heard the sounds of a scuffle, a shrill scream; then Enid’s voice, “No!”

  Her eyes were too dazzled by the sudden brightness to see anything as she hurled herself through the door and onto the circular platform. Then her vision cleared and she took in the scene: three women locked in a deadly struggle. Dot was astride the crenelated battlement, clinging to Enid desperately as Miss Craybill pried at her leg, trying to heave it over the side. Even as Bobby realized what was happening, Miss Craybill succeeded, and both of Dot’s legs swung into the void. The imperiled woman gave a muffled shriek, and Enid stumbled as the sudden jolt of dead weight jerked her off balance.

  Bobby leapt forward. She was hardly aware of shoving Miss Craybill to one side as she leaned over the battlement and grabbed at Aunt Dot. She didn’t care for Dot’s life. To Bobby, the woman was only a weight that would pull Enid over the wall to her doom if she wasn’t relieved of it. The field hockey coach tugged at Aunt Dot’s heather tweed, heard the fabric rip, but managed to get a grip around the woman’s waist, and then her leg. “Pull!” she gasped to Enid. She felt Miss Craybill’s fists beating on her back, and she elbowed the Headmistress in the stomach. With a final heave, she and Enid dragged Aunt Dot back over the wall to safety.

  “You do care!” Enid panted as Aunt Dot, scraped and bruised, skirt torn and missing a shoe, fell into a gasping heap behind them. “I mean more to you than the game, don’t I?”

  “Of course you do!” said Bobby. “I’ve never felt this way about a girl before!” She looked at the face that had become so dear to her. Enid’s glasses had been knocked off in the struggle, and her eyes were like warm brown pools of maple syrup.

  “Nerissa must be avenged!” Miss Craybill moaned. “This woman must pay for her crime!”

  “I’m afraid she’s had another breakdown,” Bobby said regretfully, looking at Metamora’s Headmistress. “Love is the devil, isn’t it?”

  “It was an accident!” whimpered Aunt Dot. “An accident, I tell you!”

  Bobby and Enid looked at each other. Would the whole truth of what had happened on top of the tower last June ever be known? “Accident or no accident, you’ve behaved shamefully,” Enid told the bruised gambler. “Betting against the Savages! You really owe your school a little loyalty!”

  “I’ll donate any amount you say,” babbled the cowed woman, looking fearfully at Miss Craybill. “But I’m into Fast Eddie for eight thousand. The vig alone is killing me. Maybe I should just disappear…”

  A bird landed on the stone wall and
cocked its head at them.

  “Look, Miss Craybill, isn’t that a nuthatch?” Bobby said encouragingly.

  Hope dawned in the Headmistress’s eyes. “Ken said the natives believed that the dead come back to you in the form of a bird,” Miss Craybill murmured. She stretched out her hands toward the little bird. “Nessie, is that you?” The bird chirped and flew away.

  “Bobby—your vertigo—it’s gone!” Enid exclaimed.

  “Why, yes, I guess it is.” Bobby tested herself by peering over the tower wall to the quadrangle below. The round white sundial didn’t even blur. In the distance, they heard cheering and applause. Bobby shaded her eyes and could see Louth Athletic field filling with people.

  “Sounds like we won!” said Enid.

  “Damn,” cursed Dot behind them.

  Bobby looked down at the Math Mistress. She knew there’d be problems. Enid would take that job with the Business Machines Corporation and their careers would pull them in different directions. They’d probably be arguing in another minute about what to do with Aunt Dot. Enid wouldn’t think much of Bobby’s half-formed scheme to put her on a train to Vegas. But what did it matter? Bobby loved Enid. She was just plain goofy for this girl.

  “Yes, we’ve won,” she said as their lips met. “In more ways than one.”

  Author’s Note

  Thanks are owed to several people who helped me as I wrote this book: to Matthew Nolan, for his assistance with Ancient Greek; to Susan Sutton, for field hockey fact-checking; and to John Scognamiglio, a patient editor.

  I am deeply grateful to two early readers, Ann Goulder and Shari Kizirian, for their criticism and comments. Thank you, Ann, for spotting a nuthatch, and thank you, Shari, for caring so deeply about the five points of perfect posture.

  Julie Ann Yuen provided many things as the book progressed: random lines, payday advances, meals on trays, and even cups of cocoa—I appreciate them all more than I can say.

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2010 by Monica Nolan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-0-7582-6024-6

  * “Age seizes my skin and turns my hair from black to white.”—Sappho

  * “The Amazons, the peers of men.”—The Iliad

  * See Lois Lenz, Lesbian Secretary