“It was a mutiny!” Jude chuckled. “Everly was angry; she said she was going home. She’d stomped halfway up the stairs to start packing before I caught up with her.”
“What about Aurora?” Ronan asked on a giggle.
Fitzgibbon snorted. His green eyes glowed with merriment. “She called me and asked if I would come get her. Said Uncle Cope was stealing her joy.”
“Mark my words, that girl is gonna win an Oscar someday.” Jude laughed. “I had to promise both girls I’d give them real chips. That calmed things down, and Ezra ate all of the abandoned banana chips, so it wasn’t a total loss.”
“The diner is up here on the right, just past the pharmacy.” Jude pointed to a sign proclaiming the Railway Diner and its breakfast specials. The diner itself was two old railway cars with the name Boston & Albany emblazoned in red. “Wolf would love the train. Ezra too, only I suspect because of their bottomless pancakes.”
Ronan couldn’t argue with that. He looked around the nearly full parking lot and started counting cars. “Place looks pretty full. How are we going to have a conversation with this guy?”
Jude’s phone chirped as he spoke. “Just got a text from Max. He said the principals are in the second car, which they reserve once a month for this lunch. We won’t have to battle the whole restaurant to hear Whittaker, just the other principals.”
Nodding, Ronan headed for the door. He explained to the hostess who greeted him that they’d been invited by Max Preston. The hostess pointed them toward the second dining car. He slid the compartment door open and stepped into the second car.
“This place is so cool,” Jude said from behind him.
“Ah, here are our special guests.” Max slid out of his booth and waved to Ronan.
There were twenty booths lining the left-hand side of the car. To the right was a lunch counter, complete with stools. A waitress grabbed menus and passed them to Fitzgibbon, who was bringing up the rear. “Good to see you, Max.” Ronan shook the principal’s hand.
“I’d like to introduce you to our jolly little group.” The principal ushered everyone to come closer.
The group consisted of six men, including Max. All were older men, with Whittaker being the oldest with his thinning pure white hair and stooped back.
“At this table are Principals Kraft, List, Macomber, and Jones.” After Max introduced each man, he mentioned when each of them held their post. Kraft and List were from the seventies, with Macomber in the eighties and Jones in the nineties.
Each of the men offered a wave.
“I feel like I need to be on my best behavior, or I’ll have to stay for detention.” Jude offered a nervous laugh. Ronan wondered how many times his friend had sat in the principal’s office getting his ass handed to him for acting out.
“Last, but not least, is Principal Joe Whittaker. Founding member of our lunch group. He helmed Salem Elementary from the day it opened.”
“It’s good to meet you, sir.” Ronan shook the man’s leathery hand and slid into the booth across from Joe and Max. Jude sat next to him while Ten and Fitz sat on stools at the lunch counter.
“It’s good to meet you too. Are you in education? Max told me we were having guests today, but not who they were or why you were coming.” Joe reached for his water and took a sip from a white-and-red striped straw.
Ronan knew he needed to explain why they were at the diner but couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for Joe. His shirt was almost as wrinkled as his skin. The backs of both hands were black and blue, obviously from some kind of medical testing. He remembered having similar bruises from having IV lines inserted in his hands when he’d been hospitalized. Joe had barely touched his lunch.
“It’s kind of a strange story,” Ronan said. “Our kids go to Salem Elementary in Massachusetts. We were here last week for the exchange concert.”
Whittaker nodded. “I was supposed to attend, but I was in the hospital. Damn COPD. Docs told me to stop smoking for the last sixty years, but I didn’t listen. Guess I’m paying the piper now.” He shrugged slightly. “It’s my own damn fault.”
Maybe this would be easier than Ronan suspected. If Whittaker was in the mood to admit his own fault concerning his health problems, he might be more amenable to spilling the beans about his affair with Marie Fairbanks. “Mr. Whittaker, we’re not just fathers. We’re cold case detectives.”
“Cold case detectives,” Whittaker said, sounding cool as a cucumber. “Surely this isn’t about my overdue book fines from the Salem Public Library. I paid those off years ago. At least I thought I did.”
“We’re not here because of library fines. This meeting has to do with Marie Fairbanks.” Ronan held his breath, waiting for Whittaker’s response. He studied the elderly former principal for any sign of a reaction.
Whittaker’s dull green eyes widened, but he remained silent for a few more seconds.
Ronan had all day to wait for the man to find his words.
“It was a shame what happened to Marie,” Whittaker said, his voice breaking when he said the dead woman’s name.
“You cared about her,” Ten said, breaking his silence.
Whittaker’s head swung toward Tennyson. “Of course I cared about her!” Anger and something else Ronan thought might be guilt warred in the man’s now sharp eyes. “Marie was a fine teacher. As principal, it was my job to keep her, the other kids, and teachers safe. I failed. Fifty-six years have passed since I lost three students and a teacher, and you’re here to what? Remind me of my past transgressions? Bring the guilt and agony of those days back to torment me some more? I assure you, I tortured myself enough back in the day!” Whittaker shouted.
