Baker's Deadly Dozen Read online

  “Is this a bad time?” she asked.

  “Nope. Bob’s eating breakfast, and my shift doesn’t start for a couple of hours. How are you? Nothing wrong, is there?”

  “No, not really. I just need to ask you a question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “What do you know about the drug situation at Courtland High?”

  Several seconds of silence went by at the other end of the connection. Then Mike said, “No, I think the question is, what do you know about the drug situation at the high school? Because you wouldn’t call me and bring that up if something wasn’t going on.”

  Phyllis was sitting at the small desk in her bedroom where her laptop was. She rubbed her forehead for a second before saying, “Sam is going to be annoyed with me when he finds out I told so many other people before I told him, but something happened yesterday involving his granddaughter.”

  “Ronnie?” Mike said. “Wait a minute. She’s a good kid, isn’t she? I thought so when I met her and the times I’ve been around her since then. She wouldn’t be mixed up with drugs.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so, either, but yesterday . . .”

  She filled him in on what had happened. When she was finished, Mike asked, “What’s the name of this security guard, the one who told you the boy was running with the drug dealers?”

  “Ray Brooks.”

  “Hmm. Doesn’t ring a bell. Some of those guys are former cops. I thought he might have worked for the PD or the sheriff’s department, but I don’t recognize the name. Of course, I don’t know everybody who ever carried a badge around here.”

  “Do you think he might be right?”

  “He’d be in a position to know,” Mike said. “On the other hand, being a security guard is just like any other job—some of the people who do it are clueless.”

  “Well . . . my concern isn’t based entirely on what Mr. Brooks told me.”

  Again, Mike was silent for a moment. Then he said, “What have you done, Mom?”

  “I just searched some on the Internet,” Phyllis said, trying not to sound defensive. In the past, Mike hadn’t cared much for the way she poked her nose into murder investigations . . . especially since the time one of those cases had landed her in jail, charged with obstruction of justice. Despite that, however, it hadn’t been very long ago that he had come to her and asked her to look into a murder case in which one of his old high school friends had been convicted. At least that one hadn’t been an active investigation.

  “What did you find?”

  “The boy Ronnie was with, Chase Hamilton, was arrested for possession with intent, up in Pennsylvania in the same town where Ronnie and her parents live.”

  “You mean she knew him up there?”

  “She must have. Although the school is big enough, with enough students, that I’m sure not everyone there knows everybody else. Still, it’s a big enough coincidence that Chase wound up here in Weatherford, where Ronnie’s grandfather lives. If there wasn’t some previous connection between the two of them . . . no, that’s just too much to swallow.”

  “I agree.” Mike paused. “You told me one time that Ronnie came down here because she’d been having trouble with her parents.”

  “That’s true. Vanessa and Phil said her behavior has been erratic over the past year, and she was hard to get along with.”

  “I hate to say this, but that sure sounds like she might be using.”

  “Or she’s madly in love with this boy and out of her head because of that.”

  “Or both,” Mike said. “You found something online about him being arrested? What happened with that?”

  “I don’t know. Two more boys from the same high school were convicted on the same charge and sent to prison. But there’s no record that Chase ever went to trial.”

  Mike grunted. “The DA up there probably kicked the case for some reason. And the kid figured it would be a good idea for him to get out of town before they nailed him for something else.”

  “That sounds reasonable. But why Weatherford?”

  The silence on the other end told Phyllis that her son was thinking about the question. After a few moments, he said, “If there was something going on between him and Ronnie up there, she might have told him about the little town down in Texas where her grandfather lives. She probably made Weatherford sound so sleepy and peaceful that the guy thought it was Mayberry or something, and all the cops would be like Barney Fife. That might have sounded like a tempting set-up to him.”

  “Weatherford hasn’t been anything like Mayberry for at least thirty years,” Phyllis said. “More’s the pity, I think sometimes.”

  “Yeah, but it might sound like that to somebody up in one of those northeastern suburbs. They think we’re all hicks down here, anyway.”

  “We got sidetracked,” Phyllis said. “You still haven’t told me what the drug situation is like at the high school.”

  “Not good,” Mike told her. “You know Courtland’s outside the city limits, so we handle things there, not the Weatherford PD. I’ve heard some of the guys who work Narcotics say that quite a bit of dealing goes on at the school. I mean, it’s not like they’re selling it openly in the parking lot or the cafeteria, but deals get done. Mostly weed, but some of the harder stuff, too. You want me to see what I can find out?”

  “Could you do that without violating any sort of protocol?”

  “I think so. I have a couple of buddies who work that detail. I’ll ask around. The kid’s name is Chase Hamilton, you said?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But you’d just as soon I kept Ronnie’s name out of it, I imagine.”

  “Well . . . if you can do that.”

  “Of course,” Mike said. “I’ll call you later.”

  “I really appreciate it.” The grandmother in Phyllis replaced the detective. “How does Bobby like kindergarten so far?”

  “He loves it. His teacher’s great, he gets along with the other kids, and you know he’s smart and enjoys learning.”

  “Of course he does,” Phyllis said without hesitation. “He’s my grandson, isn’t he?”

  Mike laughed. “I’m not sure how much Sarah cares for it, though. She’s sort of at loose ends with Bobby gone all day. He went to pre-school last year, of course, but that was only half a day and it’s not really the same.”

  “The two of you could always have another baby, you know. I’m sure Bobby would love to have a little brother or sister, and I can certainly use another grandchild.”

  That suggestion brought another laugh from Mike. “To tell the truth, we’ve been thinking about it. But don’t get your hopes up just yet. Having a kid means a lot of time and trouble, not to mention worry and heartbreak. Not all kids are as easy to raise and wonderful as I was, you know.”

  Now it was Phyllis’s turn to laugh.

  Chapter 8

  Phyllis enjoyed talking to her son, even though the subject of the conversation was mostly serious, but by the time she got downstairs for breakfast her mood was solemn again.

  Ronnie had made it down first today, which was a little unusual, and was dressed and sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee and eating a bagel. Looking at her, despite the blue hair, Phyllis could see the sweet and innocent girl she knew Ronnie was. Hoped Ronnie was. For Ronnie’s own sake as well as Sam’s.

  But a lot of unanswered questions had cropped up, abruptly and unexpectedly, and they didn’t paint a very good picture.

  “Was Carolyn down earlier?” Phyllis asked.

  Without looking up, Ronnie shook her head. “Nope. Haven’t seen her this morning. I made the coffee. I hope that’s all right.”

  “Of course it is. Thank you. Feel free to do anything in this kitchen you want to.”

  “Well, maybe not anything, right?” Ronnie said.

  She had a faintly goading edge to her voice, but Phyllis didn’t rise to the bait. Instead she said calmly, “You know what I mean. I’d love to see what kind of cook
you are.”

  The moment the words were out of her mouth, she thought about a TV show they had watched and remembered that people who made methamphetamines were called “cooks”. That wasn’t what she had meant, of course, but at this point, elaborating on what she had said might make things even more awkward.

  Ronnie didn’t seem to have taken it the wrong way, because she said, “I’m not much of one, I’m afraid. My mom tried to teach me some, but I don’t have the knack for it.”

  “Anybody can learn to cook,” Phyllis said. “It’s just a matter of practice . . . and a willingness to try new things and not be upset if they don’t work out.”

  “Yeah, I bet you never had to worry about that. You’ve won awards and stuff. Everything you’ve ever made has probably turned out perfect the first time.”

  Phyllis chuckled. “As your grandfather would say, quoting John Wayne, not hardly. And please don’t ask who that is.”

  “I know who John Wayne was,” Ronnie said.

  “Good. If you didn’t, it might break poor Sam’s heart.”

  He came into the kitchen a moment later and said, “My ears are burnin’. Are you ladies talkin’ about me?”

  “Not really,” Phyllis said. “I was just explaining to Ronnie that not everything I’ve cooked has been good.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Sam said. “I’ve lived here a good number of years now, and I don’t recall ever eatin’ anything in this house that wasn’t good.”

  “Yes, but you’re biased, and I cooked for a long, long time before I ever met you, Sam Fletcher.”

  “I reckon that’s true.” He filled a cup with coffee, doctored it to his taste, and took a sip. “That’s mighty good.”

  “Thank you,” Ronnie said.

  “You made it?”

  “I did.”

  Sam looked around carefully, then said, “Don’t tell Carolyn, but I think yours might be just a smidge better.”

  “I won’t say anything,” Ronnie promised, then glanced at Phyllis as if what she’d just said reminded her of the promise Phyllis made.

  Phyllis kept her face expressionless as she poured her own cup of coffee. With everything she had found out so far, and the prospect of finding out more from Mike, she wasn’t going to say anything to Sam until she had a more complete picture of the circumstances in her head.

  Sam was in a good mood this morning, as usual. While he was eating breakfast, he said to Ronnie, “I’ll make you a deal. Come to that dance at the school next week, and I’ll pretend I don’t know you the whole evening. You won’t have your ol’ grampaw crampin’ your style.”

  “I never worried about that,” Ronnie said. “I’m proud that you’re my grandfather. I’m just not much on dances, that’s all.”

  “You might make some new friends,” Phyllis said. “You haven’t been here that long. There must be a lot of kids your age you haven’t met yet.”

  Ronnie frowned, and for a moment Phyllis thought the girl was going to argue with her. Then Ronnie seemed to remember what had happened the day before, and the knowledge that Phyllis held over her head, and she forced a faint smile onto her face and said, “I suppose I can think about it.”

  “I’d sure like it if you went,” Sam said. “Not that I’m puttin’ any pressure on you, you understand.”

  “Not hardly,” Ronnie said with a smile. Sam’s face lit up at hearing one of his favorite quotes, and in that moment, Phyllis hoped fervently that all her suspicions about Ronnie were wrong.

  ◄♦►

  She was in the middle of her third period Pre-AP American History class when the phone in her pocket vibrated to let her know she had gotten a message. She waited until the students were busy doing a review paper to check it. Phyllis couldn’t keep her eyebrows from rising slightly as she saw that the message was from Mike and asked her to call him as soon as it was convenient for her.

  There was nothing about the message to indicate that it was urgent, but knowing what Mike had been looking into for her—plus the quickness with which he had gotten back in touch with her—made Phyllis anxious to find out what he had discovered. She felt like she had to wait, though, until this class was over. Then she could call Mike during the passing period between classes.

  He answered his cell phone right away when she called. “Is this a good time?” she asked. “I know you’re on duty.”

  “So are you, so to speak,” he said. “But yeah, this is fine, there’s nothing going on right now. I have to testify in a traffic case this afternoon, so I’m at my desk, typing up some notes for that. I reached out to those buddies of mine like I told you, and I also did some digging into that case up in Pennsylvania.” He lowered his voice a little. “I might not have done this if it hadn’t been Sam’s granddaughter who’s involved.”

  “I know what you mean,” Phyllis said. “But it is. What did you find out?”

  “Let’s start with the Pennsylvania stuff. Chase Hamilton and those other two guy you mentioned, McKimmey and Fleischman, were picked up for being the leaders of a ring supplying all kinds of drugs to the kids in their high school. McKimmey and Fleischman were also charged initially with assault and attempted murder because some competitor of theirs got his car shot up—with him in it.”

  “Oh, dear,” Phyllis murmured.

  “The other kid wasn’t killed, and eventually those charges were dropped. Either the cops up there couldn’t make the case, or else it went away as part of some plea deal. They wound up going away just for possession with intent.”

  “But Chase wasn’t suspected of being involved with the shooting?”

  “Not as far as I could determine,” Mike said.

  “What about the charges against him?”

  “Dismissed. Don’t know why. I’d have to call the DA’s office up there and ask them, and I don’t know if they’d tell me. Probably not. But Hamilton walked and, I guess, kept walking, because he seemed to drop off the face of the earth up there. He didn’t go back to school and finish out his senior year.”

  “That’s why he’s going to school down here,” Phyllis said. “Well, it’s encouraging, I suppose, that he wants to finish his education.”

  “Or he wants to set up the same sort of operation here that he had in Pennsylvania,” Mike said. “Even though Courtland is a new school and the school year hasn’t been going on for all that long, there have been quite a few arrests for possession already. Not on the school campus, mind you. Away from there. But kids who go to school there are getting picked up with drugs on them. They’re getting them somewhere, and chances are that it’s at school.”

  “Oh, I hate to hear that.” Students had been coming into the classroom for the next period while Phyllis was talking to Mike, and as she looked at them, she couldn’t help but wonder which of them might have drugs on them at that very moment. She wasn’t sure whether to feel sorry for them or be afraid of them. Things had changed so much since she was young and the most daring thing anybody did was sneak over the county line to buy a six-pack of beer.

  “Don’t worry, you’re not in any danger. It’s not like gang warfare is about to break out or anything.”

  “But what about Ronnie? If she’s involved with one of the leaders, isn’t she potentially in danger?”

  Mike didn’t say anything. Phyllis knew her son well enough to know that he was probably frowning right now.

  After a moment he said, “You want me to have a talk with her? You know, somebody closer to her own age—”

  “You’re a man in your thirties with a wife and child. Not only that, you’re a deputy sheriff. She might not think you’re quite as ancient as Sam and me, but she’s not going to consider you as anywhere near her contemporary.”

  He sighed and said, “Yeah, you’re right about that. Look, I need to get back to work, but I’ll dig deeper into this later. There may not be anything else to find, though.”

  “I appreciate that. And the bell’s about to ring here, so . . .”

 
“Talk to you later, Mom.”

  Phyllis had been keeping her voice low enough that the students in the room couldn’t hear her over the hubbub of their own chatter. But some of the more observant ones had noticed she was talking on the phone, and they must have recognized the look of concern on her face. A girl who sat near the front of the room asked, “Are you all right, Mrs. Newsom?”

  Phyllis smiled and said, “Yes, dear, I’m fine.” The bell rang, signaling the beginning of fourth period. “Now, I believe we were talking about the French and Indian War—”

  A different girl said, “Shouldn’t we call it the French and Native American War? Or the French and Indigenous Peoples War? Just because previous generations—and the textbook—used racist, derogatory terms, that’s no reason we should.”

  “You can’t blame the Indians for fighting the French, though,” a boy said. “I mean, look how rude they are.”

  “The Indians?”

  “No, the French!”

  And this was a Pre-AP class, Phyllis thought. She had her work cut out for her.

  Chapter 9

  Phyllis’s schedule called for her to have lunch at the end of fourth period. Technically it was still part of that period, but her class was over, which was good. When she taught in junior high, they had only A Lunch and B Lunch, so everyone had a complete class either before or after the midday meal. Enough students attended Courtland that three lunch periods were required, which meant dividing some classes in the middle, something that as a teacher Phyllis wouldn’t have liked at all. It was difficult enough getting the students to settle down and concentrate once at the beginning of class; having to do that twice in the same period would be an even bigger chore.

  She happened to know that Ronnie had C Lunch as well, so as she walked toward the faculty table with her tray, she scanned the heads of the teenagers sitting at the tables, searching for the girl’s bright blue hair. She didn’t spot Ronnie anywhere in the cafeteria.