by Ali Franklin
Ryan rolled her eyes. “Let’s go into my office,” she said.
Inside, Ryan sat behind the desk and invited the detective to take a seat. Trainor declined, preferring to walk around the room, looking at the framed pictures on the wall.
“What can I help you with, Detective?” asked Ryan.
Trainor turned to face the dean. “I just have a few additional questions for you.”
“Questions that will beef up your case against Grace?”
“Just questions,” said the detective.
“What do you want to know?” asked Ryan.
“You told me you didn’t know Cora DeLuca very well,” said Trainor.
“That's right. I didn't.”
“What about when you were in New York?”
“New York? I lived there for two years,” Ryan said. “But I didn’t know Cora then.”
“Really?” asked the detective. “That seems…implausible.”
Ryan blinked. “Why ‘implausible’, Detective?”
“Because you and Cora DeLuca worked at the same recording studio while she was at Juilliard.” The detective watched Ryan’s face. All she saw was confusion.
“Empire?” asked Ryan.
The detective looked at her notes. “That’s the one.”
“I didn’t know Cora worked there,” said Ryan. “I might have met her there, but I don’t remember. And I guess she didn’t remember either, or she would have said something when she got here.”
“Were you in competition with Ms. DeLuca, Doctor McCabe?”
“Haven’t you asked me that before, Detective? I told you. No one here was competing with Cora, including me. She was the only percussion faculty member. I couldn’t even be a substitute professor for her classes.”
Trainor stood up again and moved toward one of the photos on the wall. With her back to Ryan, she said, “Tell me about your time in New York, Professor.”
“There’s not much to tell. I had been teaching for a couple of years when a friend of mine invited me to play on his new CD. Empire was a big studio and once I got to know the people there, there was a lot of opportunity. I played with a lot of talented musicians, so I quit my teaching job and did session work and composing full time.”
“These are some of the people you worked with?” asked Trainor, pointing to a photo on the wall.
“Yes. I have some more in my office in VZ. Along with CDs and other memorabilia.”
“Why do you keep it here at the college?” asked the detective. “Aren’t you afraid it will be stolen?”
“Detective, you seem to forget my friend is the chief of police here.” Trainor smiled and Ryan continued, “Most of the things I have here are copies. The real treasures are at home."
“You have some of my favorite artists up here,” said the detective. “Are you saying you might be on some of the music in my collection?”
“If he is one of your favorites,” Ryan gestured to the man in the picture closest to Trainor, “it’s a good bet.”
The detective continued to circle the room. Ryan suddenly remembered what she and her friends had learned the night before.
“Detective, speaking of people who knew Cora, have you talked with Chief Statton today?”
“No,” said Trainor. “I think she left me a message but I haven’t called her back.”
“I know what it’s about,” said Ryan. “Did you know that Abby Strimple went to school with Cora, and that she helped Cora get hired here?”
“That is interesting,” said the detective.
“And did you know Abby was late to the pub after the paintball match on Monday?”
A faint smile passed over Trainor’s face. “Paintball,” she said, shaking her head. She stopped pacing and pulled out her notebook. “You say she was late?”
“Yes. She got there after I did,” said Ryan.
“And what motive might this…Strimple— ?” She looked up, eyebrows raised. Ryan nodded. Trainor scribbled in her notebook. “— would Strimple have for murdering Cora? Were they lovers?”
“Oh, no,” said Ryan. “Abby’s not gay. But we should look into her and find out more.”
“We?” Trainor shook her head. “Dr. McCabe, I’ve said this before, but it seems I need to say it again. You need to leave this investigation to the Sheriff’s office. You could get hurt.”
“I can take care of myself,” said Ryan.
Trainor took a deep breath. She stepped around the desk and leaned against it, looking hard at its owner. “Ryan,” she said, “this is not a joke. It’s not your best friend’s murder mystery party and it’s not Sherlock Holmes. If you get too close to an actual murderer, he won’t have any qualms about making you his next victim.” She raised her hands, palms toward Ryan, then lowered them.
She stepped back and looked down at the floor for a moment. Then she inhaled and raised her gaze to Ryan’s. “Thank you Dean McCabe,” she said. “I’ll let you know if I have any more questions.” She closed her notebook and returned it to the pocket of her blazer.
The detective opened the door and walked to the outer office, where she told Helen it had been a pleasure to meet her. She left without another word.
Ryan stood in her doorway and stared after her.
“What a nice young lady,” said Helen. “Such nice manners, and so sweet.” She turned to face Ryan. “You should find a nice girl like that.”
Ryan could not think of anything she wanted less.
An hour later, Ryan was still sitting at her desk, her fists balled in frustration. Why wouldn’t Trainor take her ideas seriously? There was something unusual about the connection between Abby and Cora and it was worth checking into. She unclenched her hands and rubbed her palms on her thighs, breathing deeply.
On the other hand, Trainor had asked Ryan about her own relationship with Cora. Did that mean the detective was actually following leads that weren’t connected with Grace?
Grace!
Ryan looked at her watch. She was allowed to visit Grace at the county jail today between three and six o’clock. If she left now, she would get there just before three. She powered down her computer, told Helen where she was going, and headed out to her car.
At the jail Ryan told the duty sergeant who she was visiting. The two forms of identification she offered were scrutinized as closely as if they were Grace’s release papers. Eventually Ryan was patted down, then led to an interrogation room to wait for Grace.
Twenty minutes later, Ryan was looking across the table at a handcuffed Grace. A guard stayed just outside the door, occasionally glancing through the window at the two women.
“It is so good to see you,” said Grace with a weary smile.
“How are you holding up?” asked Ryan.
Grace exhaled. “It’s awful to be locked up but it’s just county jail, not real prison. I hear that's much worse.”
“Do you have what you need in here?” asked Ryan.
“They gave me a toothbrush and a hairbrush.” Grace waved her hands from her shoulders to her feet. “And this terrific orange jumpsuit.”
Ryan smiled. “I’m glad you’ve still got your sense of humor."
“You’ve got to keep your spirits up in a place like this,” said Grace. “There are a lot of women worse off than I am. Some of them might never get out of prison, or don't have anything to look forward to if they do.” She reached across the table, her handcuffs scraping the metal surface, and placed her hands on Ryan’s.
“I’m so glad to see you, Ryan. And I’m so glad I have something to look forward to when this nightmare is over.”
Ryan turned over her hands to grasp Grace’s, giving them a squeeze. She felt heat spread from their hands to her chest. “You certainly do.” They fell into silence for a few moments, then Ryan spoke again. “Detective Trainor came to see me at the office today."
Grace leaned forward. “Really? What about?”
“She was asking if I knew Cora when she lived in New York City. Appa
rently we were there at the same time."
“Really? I didn’t know that,” said Grace.
“I didn’t either. But I didn’t know her then, even though we worked for the same record label.”
“That’s quite a coincidence,” said Grace.
“It is. But just a coincidence. I was glad to see that Trainor is looking at leads that don’t have anything to do with you.”
Grace took a deep breath. “That is surprising. I assumed finding my DNA on Cora’s body would make them stop looking.”
Ryan looked down at the tabletop. “Grace, how did it get there?” She hated having to ask. Hated sounding like she suspected Grace. “How did your skin get under her nails?”
“It’s simple, really. When we were walking out to our cars after lunch, Cora slipped on the curb. She grabbed my arm to steady herself. See?” She pulled back one sleeve to show faint red marks on her forearm. “That’s all it was.”
Ryan felt her stomach muscles begin to relax. Then she sat up in her chair. “I almost forgot. We found another lead.”
“What is it?”
“Cora and Abby Strimple were friends in college. Abby pushed for Cora to get hired at Haverwood.”
“Abby Strimple?” said Grace. “I’ve never heard of her. Did she have a problem with Cora?”
“We don’t know yet. But we do know that she was late getting to O’Leary’s on Monday, around the time Cora was killed.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what it means, but Abby has a history of making enemies.”
Grace's eyes widened. “That’s huge. Have you told Trainor?”
“I did, but she didn’t seem to think much of it. I’m going to keep looking into it.”
“Ryan, you are amazing,” said Grace, squeezing her hands. “What would I do without you on my side?” Corners of the mouth drawn back and up, wrinkle running from the outer nose to the outside corners of the lip: happiness. Then her features shifted and her tone became serious.
“Ryan, tell me about this Abby person. Who she is, where she works, everything.”
“She’s the campus controller,” said Ryan. “She's responsible for accounting and auditing and has a big say in the budget.” Ryan was leaning forward in her chair now, her words tumbling out. “In fact, when she suggested to Olivia Keating that she interview Cora for her position, Abby insinuated that she could make things better for the music department financially if Cora was hired.”
“And Olivia didn’t report that?” asked Grace.
“I guess not,” said Ryan. “Teddy talked with Olivia last night, and it was the first we'd heard of it.”
“What do you think of this Abby?” asked Grace. “Could she have done it?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so,” said Ryan. “She’s done nasty things to people she doesn’t like on campus, but it’s always been little things like making a ‘mistake’ on their budget or ‘forgetting’ to invite them to an important meeeting.” Ryan made air-quotes with her fingers. “As far as I know, she’s never physically hurt anyone. But it’s always the last person you expect.”
Grace let go of Ryan's hands and leaned back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling. Then she straightened and slapped her thighs with her palms, jangling the handcuffs.
“This is great news. Trainor is following other leads and you are finding other suspects. Maybe I'll get out of here soon.”
“We’re working on it.”
Grace reached across the table and grasped Ryan’s hands again.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “I really don’t know what I would do without you and the hope you’ve given me.”
Ryan looked at their intertwined hands. Maybe this time I'll actually be able to help.
16
On Tuesday, Ryan walked into VZ Hall for the first time in a week. It was quiet. She could hear the faint sounds of a piano and a clarinet in the basement practice rooms. She listened for a moment. The pianist was working on Tchaikovsky and the clarinetist was running through the opening of Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, one of the best clarinet solos ever, in Ryan’s opinion. She stood listening until her phone beeped, telling her she was late. She climbed the stairs to Teddy's office.
"Hey," she said. "I don't feel like the cafeteria today. Mind if we go out?"
"Sounds great to me," said Teddy.
Teddy drove them to Theodorou’s, a Greek restaurant they both loved to visit. It sat at the edge of a man-made lake with miniature versions of fishing boats tied to its pint-sized dock. The building’s white stucco and blue awnings were reminiscent of a Mediterranean seaside town and Greek music was piped over the loudspeakers.
The two women were shown to an outdoor table on the tiled patio. A waiter in white pants and shirt with a blue sash tied around his waist took their drink orders. He handed them menus and promised to be back soon.
"I heard people in the practice rooms," said Ryan. "Are the faculty teaching lessons this week?"
"No," said Teddy. "It's just the grad students. They're thrilled to get into the practice rooms without having to sign up weeks in advance."
The waiter returned and set two iced teas on the table. “May I take your order, ladies?” he asked.
The women looked at each other.
“I think these are someone else’s drinks,” said Teddy. “We ordered a water and a coffee.”
The waiter’s face turned a furious shade of pink.
“I am so sorry. I’ll be right back." He grabbed the two glasses and practically ran from the table.
"Poor guy is not having a good day," said Ryan.
"Bless his heart. Let’s order something easy," said Teddy.
They settled back in their chairs and watched birds fly around the pier. Ryan looked over at her friend.
“I'm glad we're here, but I feel guilty having a nice lunch while Grace is in jail.”
“Me too,” said Teddy. “Have you found out anything new?”
“I talked to Detective Trainor yesterday about Abby.”
“What did she say?” asked Teddy.
“She was not impressed. I get the feeling she’s not going to check out the connection between Abby and Cora.”
“That’s terrible,” said Teddy. “She should be grateful for a lead.”
Their waiter came toward them holding a tray with three drinks on it. He glanced down at his notepad then stopped and turned around.
Ryan frowned. "I feel for that waiter. You never worked in food service, did you?"
"I?" asked Teddy. "Surely you jest. I was too busy playing Annie and Dorothy to have a job.” She pronounced “Dorothy” “Doe-roe-thee.”
“Well, I remember having bad days like that. Let’s be extra nice to him.”
“I’ll be the perfect guest,” said Teddy. “Now where were we?”
“I was telling you I offered Trainor the information about Abby, but all I got was a speech about how I should leave the investigation up to the authorities.” Her nose wrinkled. “That woman makes me so angry.”
The waiter approached, a water and a coffee in hand.
"I apologize again, ladies,” he said. “Is this better?" They both thanked him and his face relaxed into a smile.
"Now what can I get you ladies for lunch?" he asked.
Both women ordered the catch of the day, salmon with spring vegetables in a vinaigrette sauce. The description on the menu had both their mouths watering. When the waiter left, Teddy spoke.
"I wonder if the detectives have more evidence that we don’t know about.”
“I don't know, but Trainor obviously has it out for Grace. Or maybe she just doesn’t like lesbians.”
“You think?” asked Teddy, eyebrows raised.
“I don’t know what to think about that woman. She makes me so mad.”
“Then you know what you have to do,” said Teddy. “You have to beat her at her own game. Find the killer before she does.”
Their food arrived. The salmon was as good as advertised and their conversation c
eased as they enjoyed it. Thirty minutes later they paid their bill, making sure to leave a generous tip for their waiter.
Ryan and Teddy returned to campus sated and happy.
“I am so stuffed,” said Teddy. “If I go back to VZ, I’m going to find a couch in the prop room and do a scene from Sleeping Beauty.” Both women laughed.
“You’d never play Sleeping Beauty,” protested Ryan. “Not enough lines. Come up to my office. We can talk about more ways to help Grace.” She led the way up the stairs and into the office. Helen looked up with a smile as they entered.
“That nice Detective Trainor was here to see you again.”
Ryan let out a long breath. “Thanks, Helen. I’ll call her later.”
Ryan and Teddy went into Ryan’s office and closed the door. Teddy looked around, smiling.
“It’s different in here when the students aren’t around. Quiet.”
“You’re telling me,” said Ryan. “During the year I hardly get a chance to stop and think. We’ve always got students wanting to switch professors, people trying to get extensions on deadlines, fraternity guys accidentally setting things on fire…. I have to work all day every day just to keep my head above water.” She sat and leaned back in her desk chair. “I love the summer.”
“Hey, whatever happened to that student who said he was going to sue the college if we didn’t give him his degree?” asked Teddy.
“Which one? We have at least one per semester. They usually threaten to get a lawyer involved.” She smiled. “I tend to encourage that. It only takes a lawyer a few minutes to find the section in the course catalog that spells out degree requirements. The lawyer usually recommends not pushing it any further. The student either finishes up or transfers out.”
Teddy plopped into a chair.
“We have the opposite problem in Musical Theater,” she said. “The students want to stick around even after they’ve taken all of their courses. They’d rather keep getting lead roles in our productions than go out into the real world where there are hundreds of people up for every part. It’s hard to go from being the star to being in the chorus.”
