Easing into one of my real questions, I said, “You must have taught a lot of English and Literature students over the years…wasn’t that guy who was recently killed in a hit-and-run a student at this college? Did you ever teach him?”
He gave a stiff nod, his face impassive. “You’re talking about Jackson Hait. Yes, he took a couple of my classes in the past, although he didn’t have one this year.”
I got the distinct feeling that the professor wasn’t exactly ripped up about Jackson’s death. “What was he like? Did he go to the bar often?” I tried to look bewildered. “It just seems like such a strange thing to happen.”
“I agree,” he said. He leaned back in his rolling chair. “Jackson was a bit of a difficult student. He didn’t strive for good grades—in fact, he seemed to think reading the classics was a waste of time. He had the tendency to push people around. He even tried to boss me around once, asking me to adjust his grade because his dad sat on the board of the college, but that didn’t get him far.”
“He sounds kind of obnoxious.” I hurried on as the professor gave a slight nod of agreement. “I also recently met Tracy van Dusen for the first time. Wasn’t her daughter a student here, too?”
“Claire.” His face softened. “Yes, she was nearly the opposite of Jackson. She soaked up her classes and took excellent notes. In fact, she came up with the idea of starting a literature club during her freshman year, with the idea that my students could gather to discuss their reading assignments. To my understanding, that club has continued to meet, even after Claire’s death. Tori Beekman heads it up now, although most of the original members have graduated.”
“It seems kind of strange that Claire invited Jackson to her club, since he was kind of a slacker academically. I wonder why she did? Maybe because the Haits are a well-established family?” That would lend credence to Chloe’s hypothesis that the literature club had been kind of elitist.
Professor Baruch smiled. “I’d guess it had less to do with Jackson’s family status and everything to do with Claire’s propensity to take up lost causes. She was always campaigning for animals and people that others overlooked. For instance, she volunteered on the weekends at a battered women’s shelter—she read books to the youngsters so the moms could have a little reprieve.” He glanced at the wall clock and gave a slight frown.
I knew our time was drawing to an end, since he’d mentioned his classes started at ten. “So you’re saying Jackson Hait was a bit of a lost cause, mostly because he didn’t apply himself in college?”
The professor’s hazel eyes met my own. “Not exactly. There was a bit more to it. I believe Jackson was a type of instigator, if you will. Word got back to me that he was bringing alcohol to the club meetings, and of course, as freshmen, they were all underage. He was leading the group down the wrong path.”
“And is that still the case with the literature club?”
He shook his head. “Although I’d spoken to Jackson’s parents three years ago, I don’t think the partying stopped until after Claire’s death. In a way, I suppose that sobered Jackson up.” He paused. “But apparently not enough, given the state he was in when he died.”
He glanced back at the clock, shoving his laptop and a pile of papers into his leather messenger bag. “I’m sorry, Miss Blake, but I’m going to be late for my class if I don’t get going.”
I stood. “Sure. I appreciate your time. By the way, I take it Peter Bear and Claire were wildly in love?”
His lips tightened as he shouldered his bag. “I don’t know that I’d go that far. I’m not sure it was entirely mutual.” He edged out from behind his desk and shook my hand. “If you don’t mind…”
“Of course.” I headed into the hallway as the professor turned off the light and locked up behind me. He accompanied me downstairs in companionable silence. At the door, I slipped into my coat and we said our goodbyes, since he was heading to the alumni building for class.
On my hike to the car, I considered the professor’s opinions on his students. He certainly had no high regard for Jackson, which was understandable.
But what did he mean by saying Peter and Claire’s relationship wasn’t mutual? I had to assume he meant that Peter wasn’t loyal to Claire, since Tracy van Dusen had mentioned Peter’s flirtatious ways and now Peter was engaged to Rosalee Meier. He sounded like a player.
Maybe I’d be able to dig up more about Jackson at the engagement party tomorrow night. I’d just have to figure out the right people to ask. Tori Beekman might have the inside scoop, since she’d been the one to keep the literature club going after Claire’s death.
I slid into Bluebell’s seat and started the car. I puffed warm breath on my hands, trying to get my stiff, cold fingers to bend more easily. Why didn’t I keep an extra pair of gloves in the car? That should’ve been priority number one as I packed for Larches Corner. Turning my air vents on high heat, I knew they’d blast cold air for five solid minutes until the car finally heated up.
My phone rang but I didn’t recognize the number. It was a local area code, so I picked it up and was surprised to hear Ella van Dusen on the other end.
“Hi, Belinda,” she said. She sounded faintly amused. “Don’t worry, I’m calling from school.”
Her insolence was like a slap in the face. She must’ve found out my mom had called about her possible hooky episode yesterday, but now she had the gall to try to make me feel guilty for telling on her?
I dialed down my irritation. “I’m glad to hear that. Did you need something?”
She seemed to flounder for an answer. I could hear other girls’ voices echoing in the background. Was she in the bathroom? In a gym?
“Not exactly,” she said. “I guess I just wanted to talk more about your work at the wolf preserve. It sounded so interesting. I looked up Greenwich preserves online—was it the White Pine preserve?”
I suppose it was easy enough to put two and two together and guess where I’d worked, but Ella’s ambition surprised me. The teen really did seem interested in my pet-sitting work. And she seemed kind of desperate to have someone to talk to, as indicated by her random call in the middle of a school day.
“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “How about we meet up so we can chat more? I could pick you up tomorrow morning and take you to Literary Lattes before school. Would that work? I’ll buy you breakfast. Doesn’t the bus go right by there?”
“Yeah, it has a stop on that street.” She hesitated.
I doubted she was going to agree, but I waited for her answer.
The clamoring voices intensified in the background. One girl’s words came through clearer than the rest as she taunted, “Look at the freak show.”
I hoped she wasn’t referring to Ella, but given how Ella’s phone suddenly got muffled, I was betting the insult had been directed at her. I felt a rush of empathy for the socially awkward teen. As an introvert, I could relate to those middle school and high school years when no one seems to understand you, so you wind up retreating into your own world instead. Chloe had been friendly with me in high school, but only because she was one of the most extroverted extroverts out there. She’d practically forced me to carry on conversations with her. Hopefully, Ella would make a friend like I had, but in the meantime, I could hang out with her a little while I was in town.
“Ella? You there? What do you think?” I nudged.
“See you in the morning,” she said in a whisper, then she hung up on me.
8
When I walked into our house, Mom was shedding her outerwear after feeding the animals. She turned to me, frustration on her face. “I can’t wait to get the alpacas. Ever since Frida died, those foxes and raccoons have been going crazy with my henhouse. I can’t keep them away. I lost two this morning.”
“Um…what are alpacas going to do to help? Why don’t you just get another German Shepherd?” Frida had been the
most beautiful dog, and she’d always protected the farm animals like they were her pack. She’d died five years ago, and we still missed her quiet presence.
Mom shook her head, curls tumbling over her shoulders. “Oh, no, honey—the alpacas can act like guards for farm animals. Guess what? They stomp foxes and smaller predators to death! Isn’t that amazing?”
“Yes, but what about coyotes?” I asked. “I keep hearing them at night, and they seem to be getting closer and closer to our back yard.”
Mom plopped down on the couch, peeling off her wet wool socks. “I’ll have to ask about that. Did you have a good talk with that professor?”
I hadn’t been entirely forthcoming with my mom about my reason for going to visit Professor Baruch. I had told her something vague about needing some background information before the next book club meeting. Of course, the background info I was seeking was about Claire van Dusen and Jackson Hait, not about The Haunting of Hill House.
“Yes, he was really nice.”
“What else are you up to today?” She pulled on her favorite beat-up slippers, which looked like they’d barely escaped a war zone. She looked tired and I realized I hadn’t been much help around the house.
“Well…how about if I do a few chores for you? The only other thing I have on the agenda is feeding the pigeons this afternoon. And just a heads-up—tomorrow night I’ll be tagging along with Chloe Vail to a party.”
“Chloe Vail? She’s such a nice girl—works at the paper now, right?” Mom said. “I’m glad to see you’re getting out of the house some this visit and catching up with old friends.”
I ignored the insinuation that I normally acted like a recluse when I came home, although that was entirely true.
My phone rang. I glanced at the screen and couldn’t hide the shock on my face. “Sorry, Mom, but I need to take this.”
She gave me a worried look.
I wished I wasn’t quite so easy to read. “It’s nothing bad—just Stone the fifth.”
Mom was familiar with my well-to-do Greenwich neighbor, although she hadn’t met him yet. She waved me toward the stairs. “Go ahead, honey.”
I raced upstairs into the guest room, jumped onto my still-unmade bed, and picked up.
His deep, affable voice rumbled into the phone. “Belinda, how’s it going up there? Is everything okay? I thought you weren’t staying that long.”
“Something came up and I had to extend my visit a little.” I twisted stray threads of the quilt’s edging between my fingers, unreasonably happy to hear from him. “Maybe I can leave in the next day or two.”
“I was calling to ask if I should postpone going to Dietrich’s show? I think it might run until Saturday night. You want me to wait so we can go together?”
I sighed. “I can’t promise anything right now, so you might as well go on tonight.” A sudden thought stabbed at me—what if Stone invited another girl along as his date? I gave myself a mental kick. It wasn’t like he was mine. We were just friends…or something.
Stone groaned, which actually made me feel better. “Okay, I’ll go, but I’m betting Dietrich will get all passive-aggressive on me, blowing cigarette smoke in my face and hinting that I’m a loser for not talking you into coming back to witness his ultimate triumph on the art scene.”
I laughed. “Just tell him I’ll consider posing for a painting someday.”
Stone gave a strangled cough. “Oh, no.”
“Of course, I won’t actually pose, but if you tell him I’ll consider it, his wrath might be abated for now.”
He sounded relieved. “You’re a little firecracker, Belinda. Will do. I’ll text you how things go tonight.”
My mind wandered to what Stone might wear to the show. Probably something just quirky enough to scream expensive.
He spoke into the silence. “Just shut me down if this is too intrusive, but are you really doing okay? I could tell your friend’s death hit you hard.”
I put a hand on my chest, hoping to quell my heart’s racing beat. Despite my mixed feelings for Stone, it was clear that he cared for me. He didn’t treat me any differently because I wasn’t born into Greenwich high society, or because I rented his dad’s carriage house.
“I’m okay,” I said, knowing I sounded anything but okay. “Let me know how it goes tonight. I’d better go for now.” More like I needed to go before I broke down and started baring my soul to him.
“Okay, sure. I’ll text you later.” His voice carried just the slightest tinge of dejection.
I tried to sound perky. “Have a great time.”
* * * *
After making a lunch of grilled cheese and tomato soup for Mom and myself, I tackled a few chores. I was actually happy to stay indoors, because it felt too cold to work outside. When it came time to feed the pigeons, I decided not to take the four-wheeler over because of the strong wind. Instead, I drove Bluebell.
Jonas’s truck wasn’t around, so I assumed he was still at the airport with Levi. I felt a twinge of sadness that I hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Jonas’s younger brother. Levi had never been as tightly moored to the farm as Jonas was, and I feared that now his mother had died, he might not return much at all.
The pigeons seemed comfortable in their loft and not overly anxious to head out into the cold. One white pigeon sat on a nest and refused to leave, even when the others finally hopped out. I was pretty sure she was sitting on some eggs, which would give Jonas more birds to re-home.
I scattered seed and some of the special multi-mix that had grit in it for the birds. As the pigeons started their contented pecking, I took the wooden chair and moved it closer to the wide trunk of a pine tree, trying to cut down on the biting wind that was nipping at my face. I allowed my mind to wander, hoping the pigeons would be quick about things today.
If only Stone or Jonas would make some kind of definite move. I seemed to be forever stuck between them.
After throwing another glance at the pigeons, who hadn’t even launched into their daily flight yet, I decided I might as well call Katrina, who always seemed to have insight on the affairs of the heart. She had done quite well marrying Tyler—a man we all loved. Her obstetrician husband was even more endearing when he romped around with their baby son, Jasper.
Katrina was most likely counseling a client, so I texted her to call me back when she got a break. I was relieved to see the pigeons take off into the air, one by one. They’d started looping around in a low circle over the trees when my phone rang.
“What’s up?” Katrina asked breathlessly. “You okay? Everything okay?”
“Jeepers, sis. It’s not an emergency.”
“You could’ve told me that! You know how I worry.”
“About what, I don’t know. Mom and Dad are fit as fiddles.”
My sister sighed. “It’s not them I’m worried about. Are you still poking around in Larches Corner?”
I pulled my coat collar tighter. “As if it’s a regular danger zone up here in small-town New York.”
She lowered her voice. “With you, it certainly could be. So you’re still there? Let me guess—the homing pigeons really took to you.”
I stared at the pigeons, surprised again at Katrina’s sixth sense about my life. “Um, well, yeah. They do like me.” I rushed on. “Jonas is trying to re-home them, though, so I can get back to Greenwich.”
She laughed. “I’m betting Jonas isn’t in any hurry to do that, BB.”
My sister was using my nickname to blunt the edges of her words. “So you’re insinuating that Jonas wants to keep me around?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.
Katrina barked an order to her secretary—something about rescheduling an appointment, which made me feel all kinds of guilty for sapping time from her client. Wait—did she view me as a client, albeit a non-paying one?
“Sis, you kn
ow he likes you. He just hasn’t said it yet. But I’m quite certain he will, when he feels the time is right. Jonas Hawthorne isn’t a man who rushes into anything—least of all, love. And he is still grieving.” She paused. “How’s Levi?”
I wasn’t sure where that question was going, but I told Katrina about Levi’s new tattoo, how the women got all swoony over him at the funeral, and how lonely he seemed. Katrina was strangely silent.
“What’s up? Why are you worrying about Levi?” I asked.
“He always liked me,” she said slowly. “I know Tyler’s the right one for me—”
“He’s perfect for you,” I interjected.
“Right. I just haven’t been sleeping much with Jasper’s late-night nursing, and Tyler’s been working all kinds of horrid hours—”
“Bringing babies into the world,” I said, disliking the direction of this conversation.
Katrina huffed. “I’m not saying I’m leaving Tyler, sis. Nothing like that. But I do wonder sometimes…what if I’d chosen Levi, you know?”
I tried to picture that and found I couldn’t. Tyler’s gentle nature, the way he really listened when you talked to him, like he was soaking it up…and the way he looked at Katrina, like she kept his world spinning. He knew how to defuse my sometimes-emotional sister like no one else in the family could. I compared that image to Levi.
“If you’d chosen Levi, he would’ve been a project you’d have to handle every day,” I said. “He’s not a steady man, like Tyler. He’s unpredictable and I think he can’t commit.”
It only took a split-second for Katrina to agree with me. “I know you’re right. I hate that I’ve even entertained these kinds of pointless thoughts. I guess I just wanted to share them with someone so they could tell me how stupid I am.”
“You’re not stupid. You’re just worn out and you probably haven’t been seeing enough of your husband lately. You need to get a sitter and schedule a date night.”
Belinda Blake and the Birds of a Feather Page 6
