Questionable Results

by R A Wallace

  “Although they aren’t technically part of the faculty, they’re most definitely not students.” Wes spied two young men in uniform. “Though they seem about the same age.”

  “Those are the two I was just speaking about,” Bennie said quietly. His smile widened as they reached the two men. “Gentleman, this is Captain Wesley Glennon. He is the principal of Glennon Normal School. Captain, you have Lieutenant Arlie Gibson on your left. Lieutenant Pierce Byers on your right.”

  Wesley shook hands with each of them and made mental notes to remember their names. Arlie Gibson was a fresh-faced boy prone to a reddish flush in his cheeks. His face was much fuller than his companion. Wes doubted that shaving was a daily ritual yet. Pierce Byers was tall and on the gangly side. His coloring was dark in comparison to the closely shaved blond hair of Arlie.

  “Gentleman. How are you settling in?” Wes asked.

  Pierce spoke first. “Arlie was just saying he hoped we would be here long enough to get some training done.”

  Wes lifted his brows at Arlie. The attention he was receiving caused the red flush of his cheeks to deepen.

  “I was just referring to the situation with the war, Captain.” Arlie reached up and pulled his cap down a bit lower on his head.

  “I doubt the war will wrap up as quickly as some would like,” Wes said. “Myself included.”

  “That’s right, sir.” Pierce nodded toward Bennie. “We heard that you were wounded over there. Will you be going back soon?”

  Wes felt his teeth clench together.

  Bennie answered quickly. “Not with his wound. Too serious to send him back.”

  Both Arlie and Pierce eyed Wesley curiously as though planning to ask for details about the actual severity of his wound.

  Wes changed the subject. “You’ll be able to make it to the gathering we have planned?”

  “Meet and greet,” Pierce said. “Yes, sir. We’ll be there.”

  “Were you successful with finding housing?” Bennie asked.

  “The advice you gave was very helpful,” Arlie said. “We found rooms in town.”

  “Excellent. Sounds like we’re off to a good start.” Wes glanced at Bennie. “We’ll let you get back to it.”

  Wesley turned to leave with Bennie. “I believe I may know a bit how you feel.”

  “Sir?”

  “When people give you that look,” Wes said quietly.

  “As though they’re questioning why you aren’t in France with the other boys,” Bennie said with a frown.

  “It’s not easy to bear the veiled criticism that we aren’t doing our part for our country.”

  Bennie sighed. “No, sir. It is not.”

  ***

  “It can’t be easy.” Mena’s voice sounded wistful.

  “Getting married?” Delia lifted another book from Mena’s cart and passed it to her.

  “In Hazel’s case, she isn’t just getting married.” Mena returned the book to its proper place on the shelf.

  “Yes, I suppose that’s true.” Delia grasped the handles of the cart and pushed it behind Mena as she moved down the long aisle of bookshelves.

  “There’s Sam, for one thing.” Mena stopped when she reached the proper location.

  “She’s been acting as his surrogate parent for some time now.”

  Mena considered it as she reshelved the next book. “But he’s moved in with her.”

  Delia lifted another book. “True. That must have brought many changes for them both.”

  “Quite the adjustment, I suspect. Having a baby means that you grow and learn together. Hazel had to jump into the advanced class of parenting with both feet.” Mena began moving down the aisle again.

  Delia pushed the cart. “I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

  “I know, it’s just.” Mena stopped and reached for another book from the cart. “Well, then there’s Arch.”

  Delia made a noise of agreement. “She’ll be making several more adjustments once they’re married.”

  “But what kind of adjustments?” Mena hugged a book. “It isn’t just that she’s now a mother and soon a wife. She’s also a full-time employee.”

  Delia thought of the spiced beets. “She feels she isn’t doing enough for the war effort.”

  Mena nodded slowly. “That’s exactly what I mean. I have that feeling myself a lot. I work all day.”

  “And there are often gatherings or meetings at night,” Delia continued.

  “I often wonder about how I’m doing at any one of them. Does that make sense?” Mena waited for Delia’s response.

  “You’re thinking men don’t have the same questions?”

  Mena’s eyes went over Delia’s shoulder then gained a look of curiosity.

  Delia turned to see the principal coming down the aisle toward them.

  “Miss Bergman.” Wes nodded a greeting to Mena then focused on Delia. “Yeoman, if I may have a few moments of your time. I have some questions for you.”

  Delia turned to hand Mena one last book. With her back toward the principal, she lifted her brows briefly before turning to follow him.

  Wes led her all the way out of the library before stopping to speak. “I suppose you’ve heard?”

  Delia tried to guess his meaning. “Is this about the minion?”

  “What?” Wes’s brows pulled together briefly. “No. I haven’t heard anything about that situation.”

  “Then you have me at a disadvantage, Captain.”

  “Surely it cannot be,” Wes said dryly. “I was under the impression you had some special ability to draw murders to you like a magnet of some sort.”

  “There’s been a murder?” Delia thought back to the newspaper. “There wasn’t anything in the paper this morning.”

  “Perhaps the news hadn’t reached them yet either. Judson told me about it.”

  She could think of only two reasons why Judson would do that. “Either it has something to do with your family…”

  Wes made a noise indicating that wasn’t the case.

  “… or the school,” she finished.

  Wes frowned. “You know how important it is to our reputation that nothing untoward be tied to the name of the school.”

  “What happened?” She had a thought. “Not one of the students?”

  “What?” He scowled his confusion.

  “The victim,” she said. “It wasn’t one of the students, was it?”

  “No, thank goodness.” Wes smiled politely and nodded to a group of students leaving the library. He reached for Delia’s elbow and nudged her to walk with him. “Have you heard anything about the new state game preserve?”

  Delia started to say she hadn’t, then stopped. Her eyes flew to his as she stopped walking and turned to him again. “The arborist.”

  “What about him?”

  “He told Mena that he was meeting with some of the teachers from the school.” Delia began connecting the dots. “Judson is treating them as suspects?”

  “There is a small matter of their intentions upon finding the victim,” Wes said.

  “Whatever does that mean?”

  “It seems they walked all around.” Wes watched Delia wince. “And checked the body for life signs.”

  “They obfuscated all of the evidence.” Delia’s eyes went past Wes as she considered the ramifications. “Judson believes they may have done so on purpose.”

  “And now you see the problem,” Wes said.

  “You’re hoping I can find the killer?” she asked.

  “I most certainly am not.”

  “Then you’ve lost me again.”

  “I should think it would be obvious. I want you to clear my teachers of suspicion,” he said impatiently.

  She crossed her arms. “How are you intending I do so without finding the actual killer?”

  “I suspect you will find a way. Do what you do.” He waved his hand vaguely around them. “Nose about and learn things.”

  “You’re tying my hands,” she sa
id stubbornly.

  “Leave the actual murder to Judson and his men.” Wes’s voice was equally stubborn.

  “And do what, exactly?”

  “Learn if the faculty involved have any possible connection to the victim or any reason to meet him there.” Wes shifted on his feet as he came up with more ideas. “And find out why they were in the area in the first place. What made them go to the new state game preserve?”

  “I believe they were asked to do so,” Delia said slowly.

  “Whose idea was it for their involvement?”

  “That I do not know.” She shifted her eyes to him. “Yet.”

  He nodded as though agreeing to a plan. “For my part, if they were officially tasked with anything dealing with this new preserve, I wish to know why my office wasn’t notified.”

  “Good point,” she murmured. “Then again, this isn’t the military.”

  “That is no excuse. This school, and everyone associated with it, must be above reproach,” he reminded her. “As such, my approval of any extracurricular activities is expected.”

  She lifted her brows. “Does that include me?”

  “And your snooping?” He appeared surprised she would have to ask. “Most especially.”

  She half turned away from him. “This victim. Who is he?”

  “Some naturalist.” He seemed to search his memory for the name. “Sidehill. Marcus Sidehill. From what Judson said, he often writes articles in the newspaper about preservation efforts and why they are needed.”

  Chapter Six

  Delia’s mind swirled around what little she knew as she walked away from the principal. He had tasked her with learning more about the intentions of the two normal school faculty members involved in the death of Marcus Sidehill. Of course, there was also the matter of Mena’s arborist. It seemed that Alexander Boardman’s name was often linked to murder. She wondered at the implications.

  Though she planned to make her way to speak with Alexander soon, the two teachers were on campus. George Ellis and Arthur Hildebrand were two men with whom she often interacted. George, who taught both commercial law and commercial geography, held his classes in Glennon Hall just as she did. She was somewhat familiar with his schedule. She often bumped into him in the hallway as she was coming from or going to her own classes.

  The second teacher, Arthur Hildebrand, taught agriculture and botany but did so in a different building. She would need to check his teaching schedule. She made her way quickly to Glennon Hall. Her eyes went to the clock on one wall when she entered the building. If she was lucky enough to catch George immediately, she would have time to speak to him before her next class.

  She paused at the foot of the grand staircase and mentally flipped a coin. Will the popular teacher be upstairs near his classroom? She often saw him speaking with students in the hallway before and after his classes. Or is he perhaps in one of the many meeting rooms on the first floor? Faculty were often expected to attend meetings or to meet with students between their classes.

  Just as she began ascending the stairway, she heard the low, cultured voice of George behind her. She immediately stepped down to wait at the foot of the stairs for him to reach her. When he did, he offered a friendly smile. His handlebar mustache and Van Dyke beard were neatly trimmed, as always. It occurred to her that very few men sported full facial hair. She wondered if he opted for his precisely because of that fact. He certainly stood out in a crowd.

  “Good morning. Ready for another fun-filled day of teaching typewriting?” George paused next to her.

  She realized once he was close enough that he appeared unusually subdued. She’d grown accustomed to seeing humor in his eyes whenever he spoke with her.

  “I was wondering if you might have a few moments to speak with me.” Delia glanced over at the burgundy and white chair. “Perhaps away from the students.”

  George followed her gaze. When his eyes shifted back to hers, he nodded once then motioned for her to lead the way.

  She stood with her hand on the back of the burgundy and white chair. “I won’t take up much of your time. I know we both have classes starting soon.”

  “You’ve heard.” His voice sounded resigned.

  “I imagine everyone will be hearing before the morning is out.” She offered a sympathetic smile. “Can you tell me about it?”

  He studied her for just a moment as he collected his thoughts. “You know about the state’s work with game preserves?”

  “Only vaguely,” she admitted.

  “There are many acres around the state established for such uses. The land is set aside and then typically stocked with game,” he explained.

  “For hunting?” she guessed.

  “Among other things,” he agreed. “There’s fishing, as well. Many enjoy the land simply for the beauty it offers.”

  “How much land?”

  “The preserves vary in size. This new one is about fifty-five hundred acres.”

  “Wow.” She was genuinely impressed.

  “Exactly. Much work needs to be accomplished to appropriately prepare it for use. As you might imagine, the government also requires a great deal of accountability.”

  “Commercial geography,” she murmured.

  “Indeed. My expertise dealing with both geography and commodities is very useful in such situations.”

  “I imagine the state was very happy to find someone so skilled in such close proximity,” she said. “Especially given the labor shortage with the war.”

  “Precisely so. In fact, I’m afraid that shortage may adversely impact how much will be attainable by this year’s hunting season. There is much work to be accomplished before the land is ready for use.”

  “What were you doing there yesterday?”

  “We were asked to lay it out.” He used his hands to illustrate. “Imagine mapping out the terrain so as to best determine locations for stocking game.”

  She mentally pictured the typical terrain around them. It was mountainous in some areas and heavily wooded but there were also fields that would best lend themselves to birding. Not to mention the streams for fishing.

  “Your map-making skills paired with your knowledge of producing goods in various geographical conditions would be very useful.” His presence certainly made sense. “What happened when you came upon the victim?”

  George smoothed his mustache. “Things got a little confusing at that point.”

  “Whose idea was it to approach the victim?”

  He grimaced. “That I’m not certain. The police chief asked the same question.” George shook his head slightly. “We discussed searching for vital signs. That much I remember.”

  “Who suggested it?” she prompted again. There were only three of them there. “Arthur?”

  “Perhaps,” he said slowly. “We were all talking at once. It may have been Arthur. Then again, it may have been Alexander.”

  “Okay. It was decided to check the victim. Who volunteered to do so?”

  “Alexander.” George’s voice held relief.

  She wondered if George was the squeamish type. “How did Alexander do that, exactly?”

  “To be honest, I have no idea. His back was toward us.” His weak smile was sheepish. “Arthur and I were just very happy it wasn’t us.”

  As they both climbed the stairs toward their classes, Delia asked George about Arthur’s teaching schedule. She learned that Arthur wouldn’t be free until shortly before lunch. She parted ways with George on the third floor and went into her own classroom just as her students began to file in. As soon as her class was over, she pulled on her jacket and made her way to town.

  Her discussion with Mena earlier about the stress Hazel was under gave her an idea. Hazel was her nearest living relative. So far, she’d deliberately remained neutral when it came to Hazel’s decision to marry. She felt it was up to Arch and Hazel. However, as much as she supported her cousin, she hadn’t stepped up once the decision was made. Perhaps she might be able to a
lleviate some of Hazel’s stress by being more helpful now that they planned to marry?

  According to George, she had enough time to do a bit of shopping in town before speaking with Arthur Hildebrand. It was just enough time to begin gathering the things many women expected to see on that most important day. The voice of her grandmother filled her head.

  Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

  For the moment, she would concentrate on something new. She stepped down from the trolley wondering what that might be. The town of Glennon had many shops. She randomly selected one corner and began working her way slowly down the sidewalk. As she went along, she peered into each shop window. There was the furrier, of course. Delia paused to examine the many options. Certainly, a full-length fur would be very warm. She tried to envision Hazel’s diminutive form engulfed in one. Either way, it was not in her budget. Perhaps a fur hat? Or a collar trim? She moved on to the next window.

  Shoes were such a personal choice. In Hazel’s case, ones with the most serviceable heel was preferred. It was true for most women who spent much of their day on their feet. She moved on. In the next window, she saw every electric appliance imaginable. There were tabletop electric stoves, lamps, clothes irons, heating pads, curling irons, and more. She knew Arch had already replaced Hazel’s old toaster.

  She continued on down the long row of shops. Once she reached the corner she crossed over and made the return trip. Several times she found herself considering, then discarding, ideas. Finally, it was her grandmother that solved the dilemma. As she peered into a window, she heard her grandmother’s voice again. As young girls, Hazel and Delia were told that lace shawls were indispensable for every lady. She felt the smile pull at her lips as she stepped inside the shop.

  She still had her purchase with her when she found Arthur Hildebrand after his last morning class. She knew from experience that the man who taught both agriculture and botany was a courteous man. After attending one meeting of the food conservation committee, she also discovered that he was very fond of wine. As the chair of the committee, he managed to keep an upbeat tone throughout the meeting she’d attended. At the moment, he looked slightly less jovial.