Free Lessons in Murder by Claire McNab Page B

Phyllis, public education needs positive press,” the Minister had said, “and it is not helped by the present situation. We’ve heard that muckraker, Pierre Brand, is going to do one of his in-depth exposés and I want you to get in first to scotch the rumor that anything untoward ever happened between Sir Richard’s son and any senior girl.”
    Mrs. Farrell’s suggestion that this statement might not be completely accurate was disregarded and she was now faced with the unhappy prospect of trying to please everyone at once—the Department, the Minister, Sir Richard, and the voracious media.
    Her train of thought was interrupted by Lynne Simpson, who entered, uninvited, with a jangle of gold bracelets and an expression of deep concern. “Mrs. Farrell! I have been accosted, positively accosted, by a television crew in the car park. Surely you have the authority to warn them off. I can’t see how any teacher can be expected to cope with this type of harassment as well as the demands of a day’s lessons. What are you going to do about it?”
    “I’m rather surprised to see you here so early,” said Mrs. Farrell, making a barbed reference to the number of mornings she had stood by the signing-in book as Lynne, late as usual, had swept in on a wave of breathless apology.
    “First Bill and now Tony!” exclaimed Lynne, sitting uninvited on the nearest chair. “I feel it’s a nightmare from which I’ll never wake!”
    Mrs. Farrell repressed a sarcastic reference to the fact that the two victims would certainly not awake this side of eternity, and dialed her deputy principal. Having dispatched him to clear the school grounds of cameras and reporters she turned her attention back to Lynne, who was checking her scarlet nail polish. “There is something else, Ms. Simpson?”
    “Well, yes. I do need your advice.”
    Mrs. Farrell examined Lynne’s expression of earnest entreaty, her smooth dark hair, the expensive rings and beautiful clothing. The only advice Lynne Simpson had ever asked of her before had related to manipulating the Department’s leave formula to gain extra time of teaching duties during her divorce, so Mrs. Farrell waited with interest to see what special service she could render this time.
    “It’s about a threatening phone call. Last night. I just froze when I heard the whispering voice.” Lynne’s face wore a suitably alarmed expression as she continued, “I’m all alone. I’ve sent the kids to Bruce, of course, because I need to know they’re safe, and away from all this. And as far as Bruce himself is concerned, I certainly don’t want him back, but it can be comforting at times to have a man around, don’t you think?”
    Mrs. Farrell thought of her own quiet little accountant husband: a comfort? Not quite the word. A presence, or even a habit, would be a better description. “Have you told the police?” she asked.
    “Well, I expected to find them here, in your office. Where are they?”
    Frostily amused at Lynne’s aggrieved tone, Mrs. Farrell advised that the police had thought it more convenient to move to the local police station and continue their inquiries from that base. “However,” she said, “Inspector Ashton will be here to see me at ten. If you wish, I’ll advise her that you would like to see her.”
    Still Lynne did not rise. Mrs. Farrell sighed. “There’s something more?”
    “I wonder if you’ll be speaking to the media, Mrs. Farrell.”
    “The Education Department has asked me to make a statement this afternoon. Why?”
    Lynne leaned forward confidentially. “It’s just,” she said sincerely, “that sometimes it’s better to give an exclusive, rather than be hounded by every little reporter with a notebook.” Mrs. Farrell remained silent, so Lynne continued, “It happens that I have a contact with a television program, and I did say that I’d approach you to see if you’d be interested . . .”
    “In what way would I be interested?”
    “Why, in