48 SEPTEMBER 2019 THE ATLANTIC
pages of documents related to missing caf-
eteria money.
District officials had contacted police
after Keating met with the middle-school
employee and further investigation
revealed what she called “significant
trends.” By then, both sisters had been
put on leave. In early December, Wilson
resigned. Ten days later, Pascarelli did too.
One afternoon in February 2018, a
cafeteria worker arrived at police head-
quarters for an interview with Casey
and another detective. The worker was
nervous, reluctant to talk. But the detec-
tives reassured her that they already
knew what was happening at the school,
accord ing to an affi davit.
Tentatively, the worker began. She said
she had seen things at the middle-school
cafeteria that she thought were weird. Like
Pascarelli telling her that when students
paid with cash she was not to enter the
amounts into her register. And Pascarelli
removing large bills from her register
between lunch periods. And, at the end
of the day, Pascarelli taking her register
drawer and forcing her to sign a deposit
slip showing a cash amount far lower than
what she knew she’d taken in.
It appeared that things might change
after the district installed the new soft-
ware and a representative from the soft-
ware company trained workers on the new
system. He showed them how to count
their drawers at the end of the day, sign a
deposit slip, and put the cash into a bank
bag. But when he was gone, she said, Pas-
carelli told the workers to continue using
the old method of not entering cash into
the system. She said it took too long. She
also kept counting workers’ drawers her-
self and filling out the deposit slips. Bank
bags never arrived, the employ ee said.
Over the next few weeks, worker
after worker sat for police interviews.
They came from the middle school and
the high school. Their accounts were
remarkably consistent, with employees
accusing Wilson of essentially the same
cash-handling practices allegedly used
by Pascarelli. (Wilson and Pascarelli both
deny mishandling cash. The school dis-
trict declined to comment on an on going
criminal investigation.)
The district tallied its losses. Nearly
half a million dollars had gone missing
from the middle- and high-school cafete-
rias over the previous five years. That was
as far back as the statute of limitations—
and the investigation—went. If the sisters
were indeed responsible, there was no
telling how much they’d taken. They’d
Soon after, a woman contacted the
New Canaan police. She said she’d
observed the high-school cafeteria up
close back in 2000, when the medical fa-
cility where she worked was under going
remodel ing and its staff shared use of the
high-school kitchen. In Marie Wilson’s
office she’d seen desk drawers filled with
cash, she told police. The money was
loose, like someone had dumped bags
of cash into the drawers. She also said
she’d seen Gluck, who was still operat-
ing his catering business at the time, pull
his Volvo up to the loading dock and fill it
with cases of food from the school. (Gluck
says he was moving the food to another
school, making room for the medical-
facility workers.)ON A NOVEMBER MORNING in 2018,
Wilson and Pascarelli sat side by side in a
crowded courtroom for a hearing in their
criminal case.
News of their arrests had shocked New
Canaan. Parents thought perhaps the al-
leged cafeteria thieves had covered up the
stolen cash by double-charging students’
electronic accounts, and they bombarded
school-board members with calls demand-
ing to know whether they’d been fleeced.
I approached the sisters while they
waited for the judge. Wilson was stiff and
contained, her strict gray bob shielding
her face and her purse strap kept squarely
on her shoulder. Pascarelli was nervously
chatty and seemed stunned as she glanced
around the courtroom, eyeing the sea of
other criminal defendants. She told me
she didn’t think any money had gone miss-
ing. What had actual ly happened was that
the new food-services director had taken
a dislike to her. “[She] had an attitude and
decided to get rid of people,” she said. Or
perhaps it was the kids’ fault. They caused
so much confusion, Pascarelli said. They
used one another’s PINs to run up charges
on their electronic cards and parents were
always aghast, saying, “Not my child!”
The sisters had taken pride in their
work. Now they were the object of ridicule
in New Canaan. A few weeks earlier, nine
boys at the high school had donned hair-
nets and white aprons over prison- orange
jumpsuits with cash taped on them. A
local paper featured a photo of the smiling
boys with a headline announcing, “Exclu-
sive: New Canaan ‘Lunch Ladies’ Seen at
High School.” The caption called the gag
“a little parody.”
Whatever had happened with the
money, both sisters agreed, Gluck should
have known about it. And where was he?been working in the cafeterias for some
30 years.WILSON WASN’T SLEEPING. In April,
she showed up unannounced at police
headquarters. Casey had already ques-
tioned her and Pascarelli, and both had
steadfastly denied knowledge of any
wrongdoing. But now here she was, tell-
ing Casey she was exhausted. She lay
awake at night worried that he would
arrest her. Accord ing to an affidavitdescrib ing the encoun ter, Casey asked
if she wanted to get something off her
chest. She said she did.
Seated in the interview room, Wilson
wasted no time. Bruce Gluck was the
culprit, she said. Starting in 2006, he’d
insisted she give him $100 every day out of
the cash collected from the registers. She
said if she didn’t give it to him, he would
search her desk to find it. Gluck’s daily
demand continued until he left. Wilson
began to cry. She shouldn’t have helped
him, she said, but she’d been afraid of him
and didn’t want to lose her job. So she gave
him the money.
Six weeks later, Wilson returned for a
third interview. Casey said her explanation
didn’t add up, according to his affidavit. If
Gluck had been taking $100, that still left
money unaccounted for. Was it possible
that Gluck had taken $100 a day, and she
and Pascarelli also had each taken $100?
Wilson remained adamant: Gluck
took the money. All she’d ever done
was put up with her mercurial boss. But
her denials didn’t settle the matter. In
August 2018, the sisters were charged
with larceny.Wilson wasn’t
sleeping.
She lay awake
at night
worried that
Casey would
arrest her.