Free Poison at the PTA by Laura Alden

hadn’t even started playing hockey until two years ago, when Rynwood had built an arena. A girl from Minnesota who’d been playing since she could walk would have a definite advantage over Jenna. “Who’s playing Saturday morning?” I asked.
    “Coach hasn’t said yet.”
    Which could mean anything. “There’s nothing wrong with having two good goalies,” I said. “It’s good for the team to have . . .” I’d been about to say “a backup goalie” but stopped just in time. Jenna would think I’d be assuming she’d be backup. “ . . . to have two goalies. Just like some football teams have two quarterbacks.” Didn’t they? I scrambled to think of one, but couldn’t. Pete was a much bigger football fan than I was. If Jenna called me out, I’d tell her to ask Pete next time he came over.
    But she didn’t question me at all. What she did was start to pick at her third piece of pizza. The girl who usually scarfed down four pieces in the blink of an eye was letting good pizza get cold.
    And Oliver, who’d moved up to three pieces, was picking at the remains of his second.
    Good job, Beth. Take the kids out for a lunch treat and ruin both their appetites. Excellent. If my children had anything to do with the voting, I would not be winning the Mother of the Year Award this year.
    Again.
    For the twelfth year in a row.
    I sighed and lifted my own piece of pizza to take a bite. As I did, I caught sight of a flash of red hair. Marina was at the door of the restaurant with that young woman at her side.
    I lifted my hand in a come-sit-with-us wave.
    Marina’s gaze passed through me. She turned and walked out of the restaurant quickly, her companion tagging along after her.

Chapter 6
     
    T uesday afternoon’s outing with the kids went a little better, as it involved more doing and less talking. I splurged for admission to a water park and we spent the afternoon and part of the evening running and splashing and sliding. Dinner was sub sandwiches on the way home and we fell into bed exhausted but happy.
    Wednesday’s fun was more low-key: I picked the kids up at their schools and drove them home. After first getting promises of dish-doing, I let the youngsters each pick what they most wanted for lunch. Jenna wanted a three-cheese grilled sandwich and tomato soup; Oliver wanted macaroni and cheese. By the time we’d cooked, eaten, and cleaned up, their father was in the driveway, having left work early to spend some extra time with his children.
    I gave both kids a hug and a kiss and waved at them from the kitchen window as Richard backed out of the driveway. Then I went back to the store.
    “What are you doing here?” Lois asked. Her attire was a simple cable-knit sweater over brown tweed pants. The only eye-catching thing about the ensemble was a bracelet of ancient pull tabs from soda cans. That morning she’d said everything she wore came from the seventies. I’d desperately wanted to ask about her underwear, but the phone had rung and the moment had passed.
    Now I pulled off my gloves and shoved them into my coat pockets. “I work here, remember? Matter of fact, if I recall correctly, the owner of the store and I share the same name.”
    “You’re supposed to be spending time with your children this afternoon, not working.”
    “Richard took the kids and they won’t be back home until tomorrow after school.” My former husband lived in a three-bedroom condo and kept the kids overnight on Wednesdays and his weekends. From all accounts, they spent a lot of time playing video games and watching television while Richard fussed with paperwork from his office, but there wasn’t much I could do about that.
    Lois grunted. “Then why didn’t you stay home and take a nap or something? I told you we had the store covered.”
    Before I could come up with a good response, the bells on the front door jingled and a tall, wide, bald man walked in. Saved by the bells. “Aha!” He pointed a long Ghost of