The School Trip: A completely gripping psychological thriller with a killer twist, page 1
THE SCHOOL TRIP
A COMPLETELY GRIPPING PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER WITH A KILLER TWIST
MIRANDA SMITH
BOOKS BY MIRANDA SMITH
The School Trip
The Family Home
The Killer’s Family
His Loving Wife
Not My Mother
The One Before
What I Know
Some Days Are Dark
Available in audio
The Family Home (Available in the UK and the US)
The Killer’s Family (Available in the UK and the US)
His Loving Wife (Available in the UK and the US)
Not My Mother (Available in the UK and the US)
The One Before (Available in the UK and the US)
What I Know (Available in the UK and the US)
Some Days Are Dark (Available in the UK and the US)
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Not My Mother
Prologue
Marion
Hear More from Miranda
Books by Miranda Smith
A Letter from Miranda
The Family Home
The Killer’s Family
His Loving Wife
The One Before
What I Know
Some Days Are Dark
Acknowledgments
*
For Christopher
ONE
I have a plan.
Dr. Meade says you can’t go through life without a plan, and she’s been in school twice as long as I ever was. She’s still learning. I know because she writes papers and when they’re good enough, she gets to go talk about them at fancy schools.
She even wrote one about me.
Anyway, Dr. Meade knows her stuff, and she says everyone who wants to live a productive life must have a plan. Five-year. Month-long. Even a daily schedule can help. It’s helped me.
For so long, I kept thinking about my life as a series of wins and losses. Dr. Meade says that isn’t healthy. Sometimes I think she just says that because my losses are so overwhelming. If I kept thinking about them, I’d hurt myself again…
There’s a lot about my past I wish I could change. A lot about me I wish I could change.
For the plan to work, I first had to admit the truth about myself. Then, I had to come to terms with what I really needed. The last part—let me tell you, this one is a doozy to get right—was figuring out how to make it happen.
All of it has led me to this point, to today’s Step One:
Take the girl.
TWO
EMMA
She’s gone.
My eyes flit from the bus, back to the line of children, searching for her familiar silhouette, her hair, icy blonde and teased into a high ponytail. There are two dozen other children about her height and stature, all wearing the same burnt-orange shirt, but none of them are her.
Paranoia spikes. Chilly fear climbs my spine, branching out through my arms and legs, a vigilant frost. I must find her.
“Claire?” I call out, my voice rising above the cacophony of little voices around me. I’m starting to panic now. It’s been, what? Thirty seconds? Sixty? How long has she been out of my sight?
“Claire?”
“Looking for someone?”
It’s Laura Bailey, my fellow teacher. Mid-sixties with short gray hair, wearing the same orange shirt as the rest of the crowd. Her voice is calm and friendly, and soon I see why. Claire is standing behind her.
The kettle of emotions disperses, swiftly replaced with relief, and more than that, embarrassment. It was only a moment of having her out of my sight. No reason to be alarmed.
“Why aren’t you with the rest of your class?” I say, bending down to be at eye level with my six-year-old daughter.
Claire leans forward, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “I was looking for you.”
“I told you to stay with Ms. Bailey until I came to find you,” I say, looking up at Laura with thankful eyes. “I have to meet with the other parents.”
“I wanted to ride the bus with you.”
I look behind her, watching as the clunky yellow buses maneuver through the narrow parking lot. It took two school vehicles to transport the kindergarten class of North Ridge Elementary to McCallister’s Pumpkin Patch—Laura’s class wasn’t grouped with mine. When they pass, I see the line of parents waiting to get inside.
My attention is pulled away from Claire, back to my own class of fifteen students. They’re standing in line, kicking at dirt and waiting for instruction. I’ll have to get their attention before they catch sight of their parents, or, like Claire, they’ll all take off in a variety of different directions.
“Ms. Howard’s class, stay to the left,” I tell the students, doing a quick count of heads. One through fifteen. They’re all there. I turn back to Claire. “Stay with Ms. Bailey until I come to get you, okay?”
She nods without speaking, skipping back in the direction of her class. Laura smiles at me, shaking her head.
“She’s more excited than I’ve seen her all year,” she says. “All she talked about on the way over was exploring the pumpkin patch with Mommy.”
“I’m excited, too,” I say, looking at my clipboard. “Beats the classroom.”
“And we have backup,” she says, looking at the parents walking toward us. “Got to love a field trip.”
Normally, going anywhere with over a dozen kindergarteners is cause for me to double-up on my anxiety medication, but this year is different, because Claire is here. She can’t be in my homeroom—that would be too much of a distraction for both of us—but I can see her throughout the day ambling through the grade-level pod at school, playing in the playground at recess. And then there are days like today, when I get to feel a little less like a teacher and more like a parent.
I’m constantly being pulled between the two roles.
“Ms. Howard?” The first parent approaches me, holding a visitor sticker in her hand and a water bottle in the other.
“Aiden’s mother, right?” I say, flicking through the papers on my clipboard. “Just sign here and he’s yours the rest of the day. We’ll have lunch at the pavilion around one o’clock, if you’d like to join us. The bus will head back to the school at two. Will he be riding with us or leaving with you?”
“He’ll stay with me,” she says, taking the pen and signing. “Do I need to check with you before we leave?”
“This is all I need,” I say, nodding at the paperwork. I turn behind me, gesturing for Aiden to join us. “Just flag down me or one of the other teachers if you need anything.”
I repeat the conversation another eleven times, making sure to answer each parent’s questions. Some parents are veteran field trip chaperones, but others, especially if this is their first child, aren’t quite sure what to expect. I always try to be considerate of them. Children are intimidating. With their little bodies and smiling faces, they hold so much power over us, and they don’t even know it. Being responsible for the well-being of even one child is a large task. On field trip days, when there are so many children in one place, the stakes are even higher.
“Mommy?” Claire is pulling on the hem of my shirt again.
“Why aren’t you with Ms. Bailey?”
She looks behind her and points. “She’s right there.”
“Yes, but you need to stay with her until we divide up the rest of the students,” I say. “I told you this before we left for school.”
It was a hectic morning. My alarm went off late, which meant I was behind on making bagels and pouring coffee. I had to find our shirts, and make sure that our water bottles were packed. I styled Claire’s hair into a ponytail because there was little time for anything else, and we bickered over the fact the hot-pink hair ribbon she wanted to wear clashed with her shirt. By the time we made it to the car, I was already irritated.
“I just want to stay with you,” Claire says, and I wonder if she’s being clingy now because she picked up on my frustration this morning.
“Just wait a little bit longer,” I say, smiling, “and I’m yours the rest of the day.”
This makes her happy, and she returns to Laura. As she does, I catch sight of the bright-pink ribbon tied around the top of her ponytail. She must have put it in when I wasn’t looking.
Part of me wants to confront her about it, but I stop myself. She’s only a little girl. What does she care if her outfit doesn’t match? If it were up to her, she’d wear nothing but pink and purple every day. If David were here, he’d burst out laughing, take pride in our defiant daughter.
But David isn’t here anymore. It’s only me, and sometimes the weight of carrying everything on my own makes me want to break.
THREE
As more parent chaperones arrive to collect their children, the crowd thins, and I’m able to catch sight of my fellow teaching staff. We’ve agreed to meet under the pavilion to get our plans in order. Most students have parents attending the field trip, but those that don’t will be split among the teachers. It’s usually easier for the remaining students to stick with their homeroom, but occasionally we’ll come up with a different plan depending on friend groups.
First to arrive at the pavilion is Mr. Shaver. Most people would look at Benjamin Shaver and assume he teaches older kids. With his stocky build and thick facial hair, he looks like he’d be better suited for running football plays than teaching the alphabet. However, I’ve worked with him for over a year now, and I’ve learned Ben is the stereotypical gentle giant. He grew up in foster care and credits his own kindergarten teacher with saving him from a dangerous home environment; it’s the reason he’s so at ease with the younger students, why he wants to make a difference.
“Hi, Ben,” I say, instructing my students to sit next to his. “Off to a good start?”
“Yep. All my parents showed up on time. Looks like I’ll have Sally Wren and Mary Wainwright with me today. How many are left in your homeroom?”
“Three. Jeff List, Calvin Barnes and Makayla Peters.”
The three students I’ve just named have already made themselves at home beside their classmates, giggling and pawing at one another’s jackets.
“I’m guessing your mini-me will stick with you,” Ben says, as Laura brings her class over. Besides Claire, she has two other students left in her homeroom: Roger Smith and Katy Callaway.
“You can’t beat this weather,” Laura says, surveying the scene. “Looks like there’s all sorts of activities.”
Nothing is as idyllic as an October day at McCallister’s Pumpkin Patch, although in East Tennessee, it’s hard to tell what type of weather you might get. The mornings might feel like winter, which dips back into summer by the afternoon. Today, autumn has arrived in full. Clear blue skies, cool air, multicolored trees along the perimeter of the land, the foliage ranging from yellow and orange to purple and red.
There are plenty of attractions here, too. The obvious pumpkin fields, a petting zoo, two corn mazes and a playground. Normally, it would be a hassle chasing students from one place to the next, but I’m looking forward to it because Claire is here with me.
“I want to walk around with Makayla,” Katy announces, playing with the bracelet around her wrist.
“Can Calvin be my buddy for the day?” Roger adds.
“Sit tight, everyone,” I say. “We’re still waiting on one class to join.”
“I’m here!” Sarah Green shouts, waving her clipboard in the air. Two students are quick on her heels, kicking up dust.
Although I’ve worked with Laura the longest, Sarah is closest to my age. We’ve become best friends in the teaching pod, doing everything from organizing school events together to grouping up on the bus ride for today’s field trip. She has short dark hair and equally dark eyes. No children of her own yet, but she’s probably the closest thing Claire has to an aunt.
“Sorry, had a late parent,” she says. “Have we already sorted chaperones?”
“We were waiting on you,” Laura says. She looks at the students. “Although it seems some of them have already placed themselves in groups.”
“Let’s do a quick headcount,” Ben says.
Between the four of us, there are ten kids without a parent chaperone. Nine, excluding Claire. Laura takes Makayla, Sally and Katy. The rowdiest students—Jeff, Calvin and Cole—are stuck with Ben. Sarah and I decide to walk around together, taking the remaining three with us.
“Lunch is at one o’clock, right?” Ben confirms.
“Yes. Anna and Jack are bringing lunch over from the cafeteria.”
“Hopefully they’ll stay until the end of the day,” Ben says. “Give us some extra help.”
“That’s the plan,” Laura says.
Anna and Jack are our kindergarten assistants. Truthfully, I’m not sure how any of us would make it through the day without them.
“Mommy, I have a question,” Claire says, pulling on my shirt again.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“I thought we were going to walk around. Just the two of us.”
It’s not really a question, but her intentions are clear. She wants to be like any other child on the trip. She wants to have her mother’s attention all to herself. And I can’t give her that.
“Look, we talked about this? Not everyone has a mommy or daddy who can leave work for a field trip.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I curse myself. Why did I say daddy? I can’t give her that either. I try to recover. “We’re going to have fun today. We just have some of your classmates joining us. Okay?”
“Okay,” she says, dissatisfied. “Can we go to the playground first thing?”
“Sure. Run on over.”
She takes off, the other students in my homeroom running after her. Some of Sarah’s students follow.
“I guess I’m sticking with you today,” Sarah says, heading off after the children.
“We’ll ride over to the pumpkin patch first thing,” Ben says. “Beat the lines.”
“Sounds like fun,” Laura says, addressing her students, urging them to fall in line with Ben’s group. She turns to me, her voice low and reassuring. “Don’t worry about Claire. The two of you are going to have a great day together.”
Just like that, responsibilities are sorted and settled. I walk in the direction of the playground, keeping an eye out for Claire and my other students, trying to leave behind the familiar feeling of not being able to give my daughter everything she needs.
FOUR
The key attraction at the pumpkin patch isn’t the pumpkins. For a bunch of five- and six-year-olds, it’s the ten-foot slide at the property’s center, complete with matching swing sets on either side and an underground tunnel maze covered in powdery beige sand at the front. The slide itself is constructed from black plastic piping, in keeping with the rustic feel of the farm. The line to the top is already long, and those that don’t fancy waiting are happy to chase after one another in the tunnels or grab an empty swing.
