“Of the highest order, yes,” said Pataki.
“And many men in this town had her?”
“Many men in this town, yes,” said Pataki.
“Including Amos Yerkson?” asked Dontay.
“I don’t know about him. I’m not sure if he could afford her.”
“Who did she work for?” Boone asked.
“Who was her pimp, you mean?” Pataki asked.
“Yeah. Who?”
“Dalbert Lee, the guy the found dead yesterday. Who else? He had a string of girls on his payroll. He didn’t just deal drugs. He dealt women too. Only everybody wanted Rita Mae. I would have never killed her. And anybody claiming I was a drug supplier is telling a lie. A big, fat lie!”
Dontay looked at Boone. Pataki was damned convincing, he thought. But Boone was trying to put the pieces together. And then Pataki’s desk phone rang. He answered. When he hung up, he addressed the chief.
“I’ve got to go,” he said.
“Where?” the chief asked.
“There’s an emergency board meeting at the church.”
“Oh, yeah?” Boone asked. “About what? Dalbert’s death?”
“Not in a manner of speaking. It’s about Dean Johnson. But Dalbert Lee’s death has something to do with it.”
Dontay looked at the chief. The chief was staring at Pataki. “What about Dean Johnson?” he asked.
“With everything that’s been happening since she came to town, it seems they’re good and ready to get rid of her,” Pataki said. “And I don’t disagree with that,” he added. “That lady is bad news with a capital B.”
Dontay expected the chief to rip into Pataki for speaking so ill of Dean Johnson. Dontay certainly wanted to give that arrogant so-and-so a piece of his mind. But Boone remained calm. He wasn’t about to show his hand to that bastard and give that board all the more reason to fire Charly.
“Go to your meeting,” he said. “We’ll talk again.” And then Boone, with Dontay on his heels, walked on away.
But as soon as they had gotten back into Boone’s truck, and were driving away from Pataki’s law firm, Boone was making a call of his own. He needed heavy artillery. He needed somebody to beat back that board on Charly’s behave, and he needed them now.
Because one thing he knew for sure: nobody was taking Charly away from him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The main auditorium of Saint Christopher Church were filled with students and grief counselors and Charly had been on her feet since her arrival. Students were gravitating to her, because they knew she was the one faculty member that looked out for them yesterday. She was the one faculty member that didn’t run and hide to save her own skin, but put herself in harm’s way to make sure they were safe. There was no school shooter the way they had thought. But that dead body still spooked every one of them, and they were there in force, to get whatever coping mechanisms those counselors could give to them.
That was why, when Dr. Dorsett pulled their dean aside to speak with her, they looked flustered. Charly was the students’ example. They wanted to know, in a time of crisis like that, where did she find that courage. Why didn’t she run and hide too?
“I hate to disturb you,” the principal said to her, “because the students seem to be taking to you like fish to water. And I like that. But the board is here, Charly,” he said with a look of regret in his eyes. “And unfortunately, they’re here about you. They wish to see you.”
Charly could feel her heart beginning to pound as soon as Dr. Dorsett stated that the board meeting was about her. But she had work to do. If they were going to fire her, it wasn’t going to be today.
“As soon as I finish directing these kids, I’ll go in there,” Charly said and turned to leave.
But Dr. Dorsett stopped her. “Charly,” he said, and she turned back toward him. “This isn’t a debatable point. A majority of the board members are here, which means they aren’t just meeting about you. They’re going to vote about you. You need to get in there and defend yourself. But whether you do or not, you still have to drop everything right now, and go in there.”
Charly stared at her principal. He was actually a good guy, from what she’d seen of him, but unlike Boone, who called out bad behavior on every turn, he stayed in his lane. Hiring and firing was the job of the board of directors. He was going to let them do their job, regardless of how he felt about her.
And unbeknownst to Charly, Dorsett was really digging her and her work ethic, and her principles, and, if he were to be honest, her very sexy, very voluptuous, smoking-hot body. She was growing on him.
Charly knew, after that shootout at her place, that she was on borrowed time. Somehow she knew the board would find a way to blame her for what Tabloski’s man tried to do to her. But she also thought her work would speak for her. And her colleagues would speak for her. But if not even her principal was willing to go against the board, why would his underlings?
She gave him the clipboard with the names of the grief counselors and how many students they had spoken with so far, and made her way into the back conference room inside the church.
“Have a seat, Miss Johnson.”
Fritz Hollingsworth, the board chairman, was the first face she saw, and the only voice she heard. He was at the head of the table and had invited her to take a seat at the opposite head of the table. Other members of the board, including Margaret Ackroyd and Mark Kerchup, were also there. The vice-chairman, Les Pataki, to Charly’s surprise, was there too.
Charly wondered if Boone had gotten a chance to speak with Pataki, and how did that go, but she had not heard from Boone. Besides, she wasn’t all that certain if this sudden board meeting didn’t have everything to do with Dreadlocks’ allegations against Pataki. Allegations the board might also be blaming on her. Whatever the reason for the get-together, she did as she was ordered, and sat down.
“We won’t beat around the bush, Miss Johnson,” Fritz said. “We, as a unit, have decided to terminate your contract. Effective immediately.”
Charly knew it was coming, but it still stung deep. This unlikely place, Kentucky, needed to be her soft landing. It wasn’t. She’d had nothing but setbacks since she arrived in town. But she was getting in a groove. Students were coming around. And even some faculty members were tolerating her better.
And Boone.
She and Boone were trying to make a start.
Things, she thought, were looking brighter for her.
Now this.
“May I ask why I’m being terminated?” she asked Fritz.
“Where do we begin,” said Margaret Ackroyd. “The list just keeps getting longer.”
“For starters,” said Fritz, “you and your now-deceased husband were once the target of an assassin.”
Charly frowned. “I was not the original target,” she said. “But you knew all about that, and what happened to my husband, and how I testified against his killer, when you hired me. And you hired me anyway. How could that suddenly be the reason you terminate me?”
“Because you were the target of another assassin’s bullets,” said Margaret. “That’s how!”