Read Online Poison at the PTA by Laura Alden - Free Book Online Page A

there since before Thanksgiving, somehow it just hadn’t happened.
    With Jenna on my right and Oliver on my left, we scuffed through the dusting of snow that was falling and entered the mall red-cheeked and breathless with cold.
    “I know where the new Sabatini’s is.” Jenna danced ahead. “My friend Alexis told me. It’s this way. She says it’s really neat. They have a cool basketball game and one of those table shuffleboard things. Oliver, do you want to play?”
    My ears shut down while they started to wrangle about rules for a game I’d barely heard of. I loved my children dearly, but that didn’t mean I loved to hear every word that come out of their mouths.
    Standing a few dozen yards ahead of us was a pair of women, shopping bags in their hands and strained smiles on their faces. Or rather, I knew for a fact that one of them was suffering a little stress, because when she was anxious her mouth always went a little wide, deepening the curves around her lips. Right now the curves were deep as the Grand Canyon and even her red hair, loose today, wasn’t hiding the fact.
    But I didn’t know the young woman Marina was with. A little taller and much slimmer than Marina, light brown hair, long fingers wrapping around the handles of her bags. As far as I knew, I’d never seen her before, and while I was horrible at names, I was pretty good at remembering faces.
    Marina’s head turned slightly and I raised my arm in a grand wave. The motion caught her attention, but instead of the smile I expected to see, Marina’s eyes widened and her mouth opened. She grabbed her companion’s wrist and dragged her into the nearest store, a RadioShack, a store that she had heretofore never seen a reason to enter, and vanished among the store displays.
    I came to a complete stop. After a dozen paces, the kids realized they’d lost me and ran back.
    “Mom, the restaurant’s up here,” Jenna said. Then she cocked her head. “Are you okay? You’re not getting sick or anything, are you?”
    Oliver grabbed my hand and looked at it. “At school they say to wash your hands, like, all the time. When’s the last time you washed yours? Bet it’s been hours!” he said gleefully.
    I rubbed his hair. “And now my germs are all over you.”
    He put his palms to his chest and started fake-coughing. “I’m dying! I’m sure of it. Take me to the hospital, quick!”
    “Bet some pizza and bread sticks will take care of it.” I took his hand. “If you’re still dying after lunch, we’ll see about going to the emergency room.”
    I smiled at Jenna. She smiled back, believing that my smile meant that Mom was fine, that I wasn’t sick, that I wasn’t hurt, that I was fine and always would be, because that’s what Moms are supposed to be like.
    Only I wasn’t fine, not quite. My best friend was hiding something from me and I had no idea what it was. And worse, I had no idea why.
    •   •   •
     
    The waitress served us two pizzas on metal pedestals. Cheese dripped over the edges of the dough and I had to make dire threats of dark punishment to keep both kids from leaning into the cheese with their tongues out.
    “Not appropriate behavior,” I said sharply. “You’re both old enough to know better.”
    “But, Mom,” Oliver pleaded, “it’s just
asking
us to eat it that way. Look at it.”
    “It’s tempting you, not asking. It’s a test, and you two are on the edge of failing.” I took hold of the triangular pizza server and doled out one piece each.
    “Yeah.” Jenna grinned at Oliver over her plate. “You wouldn’t want your new
girl
friend to see you fail at pizza eating. Ow, quit kicking!”
    “Inside voices,” I murmured. “And I don’t care who started it.”
    “That’s what Coach says.” Jenna picked up her piece of sausage, pepperoni, and double cheese. “He says that it’s not the player who makes the first illegal hit that gets caught—it’s the player who retaliates.”
    “Your coach