Nursery Crimes by Ayelet Waldman Page A

foundation or something, or did she just own it outright?”
    Stacy thought for a moment. “I’m pretty sure it’s like any other private school. It’s officially run by a board of directors, although they’re just figureheads, really. Abigail made all the decisions. I know it’s a nonprofit because I used to deduct all the donations I made every year.”
    “Unless you were just committing tax fraud,” I said.
    “Well, if I was, then my accountant was, too. His kids are Heart’s Song alumnae.”
    “Okay, so we’re pretty sure the school is going to continue, even without Abigail. The question is, who’s going to run it? Who’s going to get her job?” I mused.
    Maggie gave a little sob. “Oh, no, I hope they don’t make Susan Pike the new director. If they do, I’m quitting, I swear.”
    “Susan Pike? Who’s that?” I asked.
    Stacy answered, “She was one of the first teachers Abigail hired. She’s been there as long as the school’s been open. She’s kind of an old dragon, but really good with the kids.”
    “She may be good with the kids, but we all hate her,” Maggie said vehemently. “I don’t feel bad about telling you that now, Stacy, because Zachary’s graduated. The only person who can stand to be around her is Abigail.”
    “Then I’m sure they won’t make her the new director,” I tried to reassure Maggie.
    “Did anything unusual happen the night Abigail was killed?” I asked, changing the subject. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”
    “The police already asked me that. I told them everything was just the same as always.”
    “So it was just your basic Monday night?”
    “I guess so.”
    “Like every other day of the week?”
    “Yeah. Well, no.”
    “No?” I asked.
    “Fridays are different,” Maggie said. “On Fridays Abigail leaves at a quarter to six because she’s got therapy at six. But on every other day she stays late with me. Just as she did that night.” Maggie started to sniffle.
    “She was seeing a psychologist?” I asked. It was hard for me to imagine supremely confident Abigail Hathaway in therapy. I’m not sure why, since it seems like everyone in Hollywood is seeing a shrink, but I wouldn’t have expected Abigail Hathaway, the frost queen, to regularly unburden her soul. It just didn’t seem her style.
    “There’s nothing wrong with seeing a therapist,” Maggie said defensively. “Anyway, she’d only been going for a few months. It’s not like she was crazy or anything.”
    “Do you know who she was seeing?” I asked, not really imagining that Maggie would, or would say so.
    “Well, let me think. A couple of months ago the doctor called and canceled the appointment because she was sick. I took the message because Abigail and Susan were having a f—— discussion. Let me see if I can remember the doctor’s name.”
    “Try. Try hard,” I pressed.
    “I remember thinking it was Chinese. Tang? Wong? Wang, that’s it, Wang!”
    “The doctor’s name was Wang?” I asked. “Was it a woman? Do you remember the first name?” It couldn’t be the same one, could it?
    Back when Ruby was first born, and Peter and I were going through our difficult period of adjustment, we had, on the advice of a friend, visited a couples counselor. Peter had had a movie in production just then and he had gotten friendly with the lead actress, Lilly Green, a budding starlet who soon thereafter surprised everyone by winning a supporting-actress Oscar for her first serious film performance. At the time she was shooting Peter’s movie, she had been in the process of dissolving her own rocky marriage and gave Peter the name of her therapist, one Dr. Herma Wang.
    We’d made an appointment with Dr. Wang, who turnedout not to be the tiny, slim, Asian woman I had been expecting, but rather a somewhat overweight Jewish matron with a thick Long Island accent, who used her married name.
    Peter and I had lasted exactly one session with the good Dr. Wang. In