The Grave Truth

by Rickie Blair

  “What do you want to know?” Frank asked.

  “What is this object you’re searching for?” I asked.

  “Honestly? I don’t know.”

  “Then how can you find it?”

  “I’ve been told I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I don’t know his name, and it doesn’t matter because I can’t identify him. I’ve never seen his face.”

  “How did he contact you?”

  “Email. I deleted it.”

  “Give me your phone, then. The police can extract a deleted email.” I held out my hand.

  Adeline placed a restraining hand on my arm. “Do we really want the police to know about this?”

  I tossed her an incredulous glance. “Why wouldn’t we?”

  Frank snorted, making no move to pull his cell from his jeans pocket. “Your aunt doesn’t want to call the police because she doesn’t want to alert my alleged associates.” He raised his eyebrows.

  My aunt shot him a venomous glare. “If there weren’t ladies present, I’d box your ears, Frank.”

  Smirking, I held up my hands. “Don’t hold back on my account.”

  Gideon shooed Boomer off his lap, his gaze darting from Adeline to Frank. I worried he might leap into action himself. An earlier confrontation with my infamous Krav Maga knee strike had left him limping for a week, so I didn’t like his chances with Frank. Gideon knew the moves, but his reflexes were a little slow.

  “There’s no need for anyone to get physical,” I said. “But you have to admit, Frank—your explanation is weak. Was that car crash a planned assault on the bakery, or an accident? Give us your best guess.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “It’s the kind of thing they’d do. Which doesn’t mean they did it.”

  “Thanks. That’s very helpful.” I issued a puff of exasperation. “Let’s recap.” I counted down on my fingers. “One. After decades of no contact, you arrived in the village to claim a mysterious inheritance from a woman who had no money. Two, you tried to persuade me to let you search Rose Cottage.” I glared. “After retrieving a photo album that didn’t belong to you.” Ignoring his protests, I continued. “Three, you admitted you’re seeking this mysterious inheritance on behalf of someone else—”

  “I never said—”

  “You implied it.”

  “Not exactly. I told your detective boyfriend that a former associate asked me to find some object Claire supposedly hid from them years ago. I have no idea what it is.”

  Frank lifted his mug to drain the last of his coffee. By the time he’d replaced it on the coffee table, I had the beginning of a hypothesis.

  “This missing object, whatever it is, can’t be valuable. Not in a monetary sense. Because if it was, Claire would have left it with Adeline. It must be something else.” Helplessly, I regarded my aunt.

  She rose decisively to her feet. “That’s enough family conferencing for now.” She pointed two fingers at her eyes and then at Frank’s. “I’ll be watching you.”

  “Should make a nice change from the Shopping Channel,” he sneered.

  Gideon stepped in before she reached Frank’s throat. “Get out,” she yelled while struggling to escape Gideon’s outstretched arms.

  Frank ambled to the exit, extricated his coat from the pile on the floor, and opened the door.

  I moved up behind him to close it.

  “Verity,” he murmured. “I would never do anything to hurt you. I know it looks suspicious, but believe me—I’m trying to protect you.”

  I fancied I heard real contrition, and my throat tightened with remorse. But only for a moment. “You’re twenty years too late,” I muttered, closing the door with both hands.

  Chapter Twelve

  Frank’s rental car disappeared down Lilac Lane, followed a few seconds later by Gideon’s cheery, “I’m off.” After the door closed behind him, I turned from the window to confront my aunt.

  “Do you mind telling me what that was all about? You don’t really think Frank was involved in that crash, do you?”

  Adeline sniffed. Then she delicately picked up a ham-and-cheese sandwich and retreated to her armchair with it.

  I waited.

  After finishing the sandwich, she wiped her fingers on a paper napkin. “No. Not really.” She crumpled up the napkin and threw it at Boomer, who happily darted after it before settling down to tear it into bits. The General emerged from his hiding place under the sofa to pad over and check out Boomer’s find. Upon discovering there was no ham—or cheese—in the napkin, he retreated with his tail waving as if to say, Stupid dog.

  “Then why the third degree?”

  “Because he’s hiding something, and I want to know what it is.”

  “Do you think it has anything to do with that photo I found in the attic?”

  “How could it?”

  “I took it to the university.”

  Adeline straightened, instantly alert. “When?”

  “Yesterday. The man in the photo was an archaeology professor.”

  “Oh?” Adeline watched Boomer demolish the napkin.

  Her feigned indifference did not fool me. “Randall Dignam disappeared that summer. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  My aunt stiffened. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, “It was a long time ago.”

  “You knew who he was. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “How could I? You didn’t show me the photo, remember?”

  I gestured impatiently. “Oh, come on. I described him. You must have known who it was, and you must have known he disappeared that summer. What were you trying to hide?”

  “Nothing,” she insisted. “I suspected it was Dignam in the photo you found. But when he disappeared, I was out of the country. By the time I returned, the police investigation was over. Your mother told me how they grilled her. Even then, months later, people were still whispering behind her back whenever she showed her face in the village. It was difficult for her.”

  “Why did the police question her? Did they suspect she knew something about Dignam’s disappearance?”

  “At first, I suppose. Then the news about his suspected fraud came out, and there was a collective a-ha from all the busybodies. After that, his wife claimed she’d heard from him—that he was fine, but he wouldn’t be coming back. It wasn’t surprising, according to those who knew the couple. Their marriage was deeply unhappy.”

  “But he gave up tenure at the university. Couldn’t they have simply divorced?”

  “The university was about to sack him. It would have been a huge disgrace.”

  “They were going to fire a tenured professor? On what grounds?”

  “There were allegations of financial mismanagement of departmental assets. It was never clear exactly, but I heard the university chancellor breathed a sigh of relief once Dignam was gone. It meant they didn’t have to air their dirty linen in public.”

  “He was a crook?”

  Adeline shrugged. “I don’t know, Verity. Honestly. Your mother didn’t think so.”

  “What did she think happened, then?”

  “She didn’t know, but she believed Dignam would have told her he was leaving. He encouraged her studies. He even recommended her for a teaching assistant post. Then he disappeared without even sending her a note. But the police dismissed Claire’s concerns once his wife came forward to say she’d heard from him.”

  Adeline reached for the platter, then rose to take it into the kitchen. I followed. After placing it on the counter, she pivoted to face me.

  “I told Claire she should forget about Randall Dignam. That he was probably embarrassed and humiliated, and he didn’t want to involve her in a fraud case. She would have defended him, even at the cost of her own academic career. He was probably trying to prevent that.”

  “Did she forget about him?”

  “I thought so—until you found that photo. Claire met Randall’s wife in the village once, and they had wo
rds. It wasn’t pleasant, from what she told me.” Adeline took a piece of ham from the platter and tossed it to Boomer, who jumped at it eagerly before it could hit the floor.

  “I’m not surprised,” I said slowly. “The department administrator, Irina Lasher, implied there were rumors about Professor Dignam and Claire. That they… well…”

  Adeline nodded sadly. “It wasn’t true, of course, but it caused friction between Claire and Frank. He’d always been jealous, but hearing whispers like that incensed him. They argued about it and then—”

  “He left.”

  She nodded again. “Claire was devastated. I’m sorry, Verity. I didn’t see any reason to rehash ancient history. I should have told you all this.”

  I stood silently, trying to take this in. My father left because he wrongly suspected Mom had been unfaithful? That was understandable, I supposed, but it didn’t explain why he left his daughter behind. What had I done?

  “Did Mom and Dad talk about me? When they separated, I mean?”

  “What did Claire tell you?”

  “She never explained it. Not really. For a long time, I thought… he was coming back.”

  My aunt hurried over to squeeze my shoulders, letting her fingers linger a few moments before she spoke. “I’m sorry, Verity. It was a tough time for all of us.” Then she headed for the door.

  I hurried after her to pluck her coat from the floor, holding it up so she could slip her arms into it.

  “Try not to think about it,” she said, turning around and buttoning the front. “We’ll find out what Frank’s doing here, don’t worry.”

  With that, she was gone, leaving behind two half-eaten sandwiches. I dumped them into Boomer’s dish, then headed out the door myself.

  Reluctantly, I handed another twenty to the parking attendant at Strathcona University. If this kept up, I’d have to look into purchasing a monthly pass. Especially since it was now nearly six o’clock, when the clock ticked over into the “evening” rate—meaning I’d pay double.

  As I hustled up the stairs to the third floor of the Social Sciences building, I hoped I wasn’t too late. The rows of cubicles were empty and the monitors dark. Luckily, Irina was still behind her desk, staring morosely at the far wall, almost as if she were waiting for someone. When I rapped on the doorframe, she jerked her head up to face me.

  She scanned me up and down. “You’re back.”

  I grinned nervously. “I don’t wish to intrude if you’re busy.”

  “Don’t you?” She studied my face.

  I smiled weakly.

  “Well? What do you want?”

  “Our conversation the other day was cut short, and I had a few more questions about Professor Dignam.”

  “Such as?”

  “You mentioned he was about to lose his tenure. I’ve since learned there were allegations of fraud. Do you remember the details?”

  Her face momentarily darkened, then she laughed, twirling from side to side on her wheeled chair while running a hand across her desk. “It was ridiculous. He was a valued member of the faculty.”

  “But he left in quite a hurry, and he hasn’t been back. You can see why I’m curious.”

  She pressed her fingers onto the desk to halt the chair’s movement. “Not really. Why is it any business of yours?”

  “Because my mother was mentioned in those rumors.”

  Irina tilted her head, fingering the heavy silver chain that dangled nearly to her waist. “Your mother was mentioned in a lot of rumors.”

  As I narrowed my eyes, I pictured that chain becoming a lot tighter.

  She must have noticed my hostile expression, because she added in an offhand way, “It was a long time ago.”

  “So everyone keeps telling me.” My voice was rising, and I struggled to get it under control. “I can’t ask my mother, as you know. And my father refuses to talk about it. Tell me what happened. Please.”

  She made a startled sound. “Your father—is back?”

  Oops. I hadn’t meant to involve Frank.

  “Never mind about him. Tell me what happened.”

  As she leaned toward me, the chain trailed across her desk. “Randall Dignam was an honorable man. Whatever led him to relinquish tenure and leave the university wasn’t his fault. I didn’t believe it then, and I don’t believe it now.” She sat back, her resolve clear.

  “He left of his own volition? Nothing happened to him?”

  “Happened to him?” Her incredulous tone was scathing. “What could have happened to him?”

  “Did you talk to him after he left?”

  Her mouth twisted into something that resembled a smile. “As it happens, I did. And I told the police that when they asked me.”

  “Dignam contacted you?”

  “He called me. I was here, at the university. Randall said stories would come out about him once he was gone, but not to believe them. And he thanked me for everything I’d done for him.”

  “Such as?” I knew this was pushing it, but I might not get another chance.

  Her eyes slitted, as if she didn’t understand the question.

  “What did you do for him?” I repeated.

  “I ran the whole bloody department,” she said angrily. “And I still do, truth be told.”

  “This phone call—how long did it last?”

  “I don’t know. A few minutes.”

  “Where he was calling from?”

  “He didn’t say. And I didn’t ask. My phone display showed his usual number, but it wasn’t a local call.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The line wasn’t clear. There were background noises.”

  “What kind?”

  Leaning her chin on her hand, she fixed me with a piercing look. After a moment, she straightened up. “I don’t want to talk about this. Please leave.” She rose to her feet, gesturing emphatically at the door.

  “Can I call you if—”

  “No,” she snapped. “I don’t want to hear from you again.”

  I stepped into the hall. Irina stormed out from behind her desk to close the glass door behind me with a decisive click.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After Irina threw me out of her office, the sensible thing would have been to return to the parking lot, pay the exorbitant fee, drive home—and forget all about my mother’s academic history. But, as usual, I allowed my curiosity to get the better of me. The students I’d met on my previous trip said the older exhibits were destined for storage. This might be my last chance to examine them for clues to my mother’s involvement.

  It took me nearly twenty minutes to find the display room again, all the while cursing the building’s complicated layout. When I finally opened the correct unmarked door and stepped through, random bulbs flickered on overhead, partially lighting the aisles. Motion-activated sensors triggering safety lights, I assumed.

  I hesitated with one hand on the door. What if those sensors also alerted the security staff? If a guard found me here, what excuse could I give? I had no affiliation with the university, and no reason to poke around in semi-darkness. The collections were obviously valuable, since the display cabinets and drawers were locked. And even if I didn’t trip an alarm, the security guards likely made regular circuits of the building.

  Should I come back another time?

  Feeling nervous, I glanced at the ceiling, hunting for cameras. There didn’t seem to be any. I mulled it over. If a guard found me, I could say I was searching for the exit and got lost. Obviously, I hadn’t stolen anything, so how could he dispute my story?

  Those exhibits would be gone soon. And I was here now. After taking a deep breath, I let the heavy door hiss shut behind me and headed along the nearest corridor of display cabinets, going straight for the dioramas.

  At the sight of a figure moving at the end of the corridor, I froze.

  The figure also froze.

  Gingerly, I retreated, reaching behind me for the door handle.

  As did the fig
ure.

  I held my arm out to my side.

  So did the figure.

  Rolling my eyes at the ceiling, I expelled a drawn-out breath. I’d been in Irina’s office longer than I thought. It was dark outside, and the windows had become mirrors, reflecting my own image. I needed to calm down. After all, this wasn’t my first clandestine raid.

  With a wave at my twin, I started down the corridor that led to the dioramas. I stopped at the sight of a sheet of plastic taped across the corridor, barring the way. It hadn’t been there during my guided tour with the students. Undeterred, I lifted an edge and ducked under. The plastic crackled as it dropped into place.

  On the other side, I stopped a moment to get my bearings. Sheets were draped over several of the dioramas I’d seen during my earlier visit. Empty cardboard boxes were stacked nearby. The boxes were far too small to contain the displays in their entirety. Which meant the dioramas were about to be dismantled.

  That made no sense, unless—I drew in a breath. Unless they were headed, not for storage, but landfill. Professor Dignam’s work was about to be swept aside, much as he had been. I wondered if he’d been allowed to retrieve the rest of his research, or if it was considered university property to dispose of as they wished.

  I could tell Irina. Maybe she would retrieve a token for him—a symbol of his years in academia. I reached for the cell phone in my shoulder bag. Then halted, recalling how our conversation had ended.

  I don’t want to hear from you again.

  Besides, if Irina ran “the whole bloody department,” as she claimed, she must know these items were headed for the trash. No sense giving her an excuse to throw me out as well. This time, I might not get back in.

  I walked over to the nearest exhibit to flip back the edge of the sheet covering it. It wasn’t one of Professor Dignam’s.

  Neither was the next one.