“Were there any recent problems between Ashleigh and… ”
“No, not that I know of. I just think she represented a world that he finds very threatening.” She paused for a minute. “There’s one more thing about Alan, I sort of forgot.”
“What’s that?”
“When I was telling Ashleigh about my experience with him, she said during her first semester here he came on to her in much the same way. She said they had one very uncomfortable encounter.”
“Did she elaborate?” asked Ray.
“No. Maybe he did that with all the new women employees.”
“Who else had problems with Ashleigh?”
“Helen Warrington. I know she wasn’t too happy about Ashleigh’s solo fundraising activities, the fact that she would bypass Helen’s office completely when she was looking for money.” She paused and looked directly into Ray’s eyes. “I don’t think she ever confronted Ashleigh. But she would tell others that if Ashleigh wanted something so much she should get the money from her own trust fund.”
“Ashleigh has… ”
“I don’t know. There were rumors that Ashleigh inherited a good deal of money from her mother and her great-aunt. If she did, she didn’t wear it. You seldom saw her in anything but jeans and a T-shirt; she drove that ancient Volvo. She traveled during vacations and all summer, but I think it was mostly backpacking and camping. If she had money, she wasn’t spending it.”
“Tell me about Helen Warrington,” Ray probed. He noticed a look of caution in Sarah’s eyes.
“What would you like to know?”
“I’ve heard there may be some difficulties in their marriage.”
“What does anyone know looking into a relationship from the outside?” Sarah avoided the question.
“I’ve heard that Helen had a very public confrontation with her husband over his relationship with Ashleigh.”
“Recently?”
“Several years ago.”
“That was probably her first year here,” she said knowingly. “Ian was very taken with Ashleigh. He’s a lonely man. He’s married to a very cold, unpleasant person. It’s difficult to be around Helen for any amount of time. But I don’t know about any public confrontation.”
“Let me be more direct. Was Mr. Warrington romantically involved with Ashleigh? Were they having an affair?”
Sarah looked ill at ease. She took a deep breath before answering. “During the fall or winter of her first year, they were often together. Some things are hard not to notice in a small community like this. There were rumors, and I was in a better position than most to observe what was going on.”
“Well, did you see anything that suggested they were?” Ray stopped and waited.
She paused, looking exasperated. “I came back late one night. I‘d mislaid my checkbook and walked over to see if I left it in the office. Must have been around eleven o’clock. As I was coming down the corridor, Ashleigh was slipping out of Ian’s office. I remember saying something like ‘Working late?’ She sort of laughed and said something, I can’t remember her exact words, but I sensed a sexual innuendo. Like she wanted me to know… ” she stopped and looked at Ray.
“Wanted you to know what?” he pressed.
“At the time I felt that it was a power thing. She wanted me to know––perhaps I’m projecting—that they were involved. And she knew that I would be discreet; that I wouldn’t say anything.”
Ray looked out into the courtyard and then back at Sarah, holding her in his gaze for a long moment. Finally he asked, “Were you still having an affair with Dr. Warrington at the time?”
“What made you… ?” Sarah looked embarrassed and vulnerable. She moved uncomfortably in her chair, sliding down a bit. “It was over, not long over, but over. Ian had convinced me that it would never work, and it was best for both of us if… ” Another long pause.
“And how long had you and Ian been involved?”
“He arrived in July the year before. During those first months we worked very closely. His predecessor, Dr. Hellebore, was a wonderful educator, a fine man, but he had no interest in management or finance. He left things in great disarray. Ian and I often worked ten or twelve hours a day that first summer and fall. It’s easy to get involved when you work that intimately with someone, and given his marriage… ” She laughed nervously. “I hear myself making excuses. I guess the truth is that I was lonely; he was attentive and kind. I was very taken with him and perhaps had some foolish expectations. It was pretty much over by spring, Ashleigh arrived the following fall.”
“And his relationship with Ashleigh, how long did that last?”
“Not long, a few months at the most. It was over before the end of the school year. I think she was the one who set the terms. She had moved on.”
“To?”
“I don’t think you catch my meaning. She had moved beyond the relationship; not that there weren’t other men waiting in the wings.”
“Such as?”
“The one I liked the best was the hunk who rebuilt one of the school’s barns,” she said.
“Who was that?” Ray asked.
“Let me think, his name was on the purchase order.” Sarah closed her eyes briefly. “Zelke,” she said reopening them. “Jason Zelke, Old Oak Timber Frame.”
“And Warrington, has he had other relations?”
“There seems to be a pattern, a kind of serial monogamy,” she said coyly. “Well, that’s not quite the case. In addition to his wife, he practices serial monogamy.”
“And who’s he involved with now?”
Sarah hesitated, picked her glasses off the table and adjusted them on her face. “The chair of our board.”
“Wouldn’t that be quite dangerous?”
“Yes, dangerous to his position if he falls into disfavor with her. But safe in most other ways… quite safe. She’s a successful lawyer who’s wedded to a much older man. Ian meets her in Chicago every three or four weeks to… to discuss school business. Most of the board meetings are held in Chicago, easier travel for the members.”
“How old is Dr. Warrington?” Ray asked.
“He’s forty-six. His birthday is in January.
“And his wife?”
“She doesn’t look it, but she’s much younger. Thirty-six or thirty-seven.”
“Tell me, Ms. James… ”
“Sarah. Please call me Sarah, sheriff.”
“Sarah, what brought you to Leiston?”
“I was looking for a school for my son, Eric. He wasn’t doing well in public school. He was bright enough and all, but he wasn’t motivated and lacked confidence. And it only got worse when his father and I divorced. I heard about the school from a friend. We came up one beautiful weekend in late spring. Leiston seemed a good place, but money was a bit of a problem. My ex would have paid, but I didn’t want to take anything from him. Then I found out that they had an opening that I was qualified for, and tuition is an employee benefit. I left a good job in Detroit, but I think we both needed to get away. And it has worked out for both of us. Eric has graduated; he’s at Columbia now, on full scholarship, and doing very well. I should probably move on, also. But I like it here. It’s a good place, I love the area, and I’ve made a life.” She paused, and then asked, “Do you still want a tour of the school grounds?”
“Yes, please.”
They walked around the grounds in the late fall afternoon. The winds had subsided and the sun was starting to break through. A brilliant carpet of leaves covered the lawns, their oranges and yellows softened by the warm tones of the autumn sun. Following a long circular path—the older part in red brick pavers, the newer sections in asphalt—Sarah identified the different buildings and campus areas. They lingered outside of the art building, an old rural schoolhouse that had been moved to the estate in the early years. Sarah explained that art classes were now held in the modern addition at the rear that followed the lines of the original building, and the old school housed much of the school’s permanent art collection.
They stood for a few minutes and watched the women’s soccer team practice. On an adjacent field a group of students, more than a dozen, a few more boys than girls, were having a spirited game of Frisbee. The sounds of basketballs being dribbled drew them to the open door of the large barn near the playing fields.
“Isn’t this a wonderful building?” said Sarah, looking up at the curved rafters. “They say it’s built like an old wooden boat turned upside down. This was the main barn on the estate. Locker rooms were added,” she pointed to doors at the end of the building, “when they converted the building to a gym.”
“And there’s a fencing program here?” Ray asked, noting two pistes and an electronic scoring box at the far end of the gym.
“Todd Danforth, our late drama teacher, had been a collegiate champion at Wayne State, and I think he was on the U.S. Olympic team in the ’60s. He had a flourishing intramural fencing program. The kids loved it. Sadly, after his death there was no one to continue the program.”
“How did you get on with Ashleigh?” Ray asked.
“Initially, I didn’t like her much. I thought she was a real opportunist. But by her second year here, we became very good friends. I will miss her terribly. She’s had an enormous effect on me.”
“How so?”
“She got me involved in all kinds of things. First, she got me into jogging with her in the late afternoon. I lost ten pounds and started feeling so much better about myself. And then she taught me how to ride a mountain bike. I was hopeless at first, but she was so patient and supportive. Ashleigh was a real risk taker, and she had me doing things I never would have done. Eventually she had me rock climbing and kayaking.” She paused. “But it’s not about sports, sheriff. It’s about confidence. It’s about pushing your limits. She taught me how to do that. And she did so much for my son, and the same is true of all students with whom she came in contact. She was like no other teacher here, and everyone knew it.”
They stopped and looked across a meadow to a line of scarlet maples. Sarah brushed away a tear. “If I had had a friend like Ashleigh when I was twenty, I think I would have lived my life in a very different way.”
Ray looked over at her. It wasn’t the first time that he’d noticed how attractive she was.
The noise, humidity, and bleach-tinged odors of a laundry hit him as he pushed his way through the double doors, dual hinged with battered stainless steel kick plates at the bottom. Ma, a big pear-shaped women with salt-and-pepper hair pulled tight in a large bun, stood at the center of a large table, a pile of clean laundry on her left, folded clothes on her right next to a basket. A mournful country and western song wailed in the background over the machine sounds as she skillfully smoothed wrinkles and folded the wash.
She greeted Ray with a bright smile, brushing a few strands of loose hair from her face with her left hand. “Afternoon, sheriff.”
“Hi, Ma. How you doing?”
“Better than she is.” She gestured toward the radio, the singer recounting a woeful tale of deception and lost love.
“How are Pa and Bobby?” Ray asked.
“I don’t know about Pa,” slowly moving her head from side to side. “Since they’ve put him on oxygen, I think he’s going downhill. But he keeps telling me he’s feeling fine. He wants to go deer hunting with Junior. Says he’ll take the portable tank with him. And the man’s so stubborn I’ll probably have to let him go.” She paused and took a breath, “Bobby, well, he’s just the same. But nothing is bothering him none. Never does.” She moved a pile of folded wash from the counter to the plastic basket at her right. “Don’t imagine you came around to check on the family, sheriff. What can I do for you?”
“Got a couple of questions about Arnie Vedder I was hoping you could help me with.”
“Poor Arnie,” a look of sorrow spread across her heavy features. “Poor kid never had a chance. I wish I could have done more. I just didn’t see it coming.”
“What do you mean?”
“All this talk about him taking things and such.”
“I’ve heard about missing articles of clothing. You don’t think there’s any truth to these stories?”
“No. None. Arnie is a good boy. I’ve known him almost since he was born. I know teenage boys do stuff like that. But I don’t think Arnie did.”
“Why not?”
“Kids are losing things all the time. Half of ’em would lose their ass if it weren’t attached. And when some clothes is lost, they come over here thinking I musta lost it.” She waved in the direction of a row of baskets, plastic, identical in shape, size, and color—an institutional gray—standing on a long counter. Each one had a label across the front with a student name and dorm. “The kids bring their baskets over and stack them on that counter. When I put the clothes into a washer, I put the baskets right in front. When the washing is done, it goes in the basket, and I move it to a dryer. Then it’s back in the basket and put there,” she motioned to a counter on the opposite wall, “till I fold it. Now, tell me sheriff, how can stuff get lost?”
“But you do have student help?”
“Yes, I got a couple of community helpers, that’s what they call them. Every student has to do a few hours of ‘community work’ around the school. They rotate jobs every week. I have them fold washing. Girls fold girls’ stuff, boys fold boys’ and I make sure there’s no fooling around. Some of these kids have never had to fold their own washing, so I show them how to do it and make sure everyone does it the same way. And they’re good kids, sheriff. Most of the time I enjoy their company.”