Josie Tucker Mysteries Box Set 2

by E M Kaplan

  Josie paced her rug again and set up a knife scenario in her mind. She pictured Tiffany and Tyshawn standing in the hallway of the Goldsmith Humanities building picking the lock of the professor’s door. Sanborn could have witnessed them, but kept out of sight. He would have seen the police officer escorting the kids back to the dorm, taking them in his cruiser, which was a longer trip than simply walking back to the dorms. Sanborn could have easily made it back to his apartment in the dorm before the officer brought the kids to his front door. He’d been more disheveled than usual when he’d popped his head out into the hallway. Could his appearance have been from a hasty walk back?

  Then he would have had to have broken into Josie’s room sometime later, taken the knife out of her desk, and then what? Gone back to his apartment and stabbed himself in the shoulder the next morning?

  The stab wound had been superficial, according to Drew. No one else had seen an intruder enter or exit the building, which was also corroborated by the surveillance videos. As ridiculous as it seemed at first glance, he seemed like a likely suspect now.

  Josie gritted her teeth.

  She’d been bamboozled yet again by the professor.

  Chapter 41

  “Hey, wake up. You’re having a bad dream,” Drew whispered in her ear sometime later.

  Josie lifted her head from their shared pillow she had been hogging. She’d been dreaming about walking around in the southern Arizona desert outside Tucson where she’d spent her high school years. She’d been following a dry wash bed, an arroyo, at night—a calm, still night with a bright moon that lit the sweet-smelling air. In the distance, thunder rolled across the sky.

  It must be summer, she’d thought to herself in the dream.

  Then she’d heard the roar of an engine. Nighttime ATV drivers liked to race up and down the washes. Like a coyote caught on a cartoon train track, she’d started running down the wash at first. Then, stopping in her path with a mental forehead slap, she’d made for the banks.

  As she’d climbed the sandy banks, they’d crumbled under the grasp of her fingers. Behind her, the engine noise had morphed into a strange metallic tinkling, and as she’d tried to scramble upward, a torrent of knives, their razor-sharp blades sparkling in the moonlight, had cascaded toward her in a horrifying flash flood.

  “You were climbing me like I was a tree,” Drew said. “Not that I minded, but you sounded distressed.”

  “Ugh,” she said, pushing her crazy morning hair out of her eyes.

  She was still having bad dreams about her Tucson desert encounter—the one from which she almost hadn’t returned. Maybe she did need to go talk with someone. She had the business card from the karate guy, Victor, in her jeans pocket. She thought about giving him a call when this was all over.

  “Did I hurt you?” she asked Drew.

  “No. Pretty much the opposite,” he said, pulling her close so she could feel his meaning. But Benjy was sleeping on the floor just a couple of feet away, and she wouldn’t do that to their single and lonely friend. The three of them had an easy relationship, but there were some things she wasn’t willing to take public.

  “Rain check,” she told Drew, but they stayed nose to nose, hip to hip, and mouth on mouth for some time.

  #

  “What time does Ida Mae’s talk start?” Drew asked.

  The three of them were all freshly showered and struggling to swallow their breakfast at the dining hall near their dorm. Josie had come to think of this place as “Zap ’n Slap” because the only skills required in preparing food here were tossing it into a microwave oven and slapping it onto a tray.

  “She starts speaking at 11:00 down in the auditorium.”

  He checked his watch right as his phone rang. “That means we have a couple hours to finish chewing here. We’d better get cracking.” He pushed away from the table and went outside to take the call.

  “I’m going to crack my jaw at this rate,” Benjy said, pushing his tray away. Rubbing his cheek, he gave a rueful shake of his head. “I don’t know what this is, but it is not sausage.”

  Josie poked a beat-up stainless steel fork at her bowl. It was supposed to be canned fruit, which she thought would be harmless, but it was mostly juice with a few pallid squares of a white fruit she couldn’t identify. Pineapple? Pear? Human cartilage? Who knew?

  “So I got a job offer,” Benjy said, bobbling his eyebrows.

  She stared at him. “What? When?”

  “I got it yesterday while you two were out having fun in Needham.”

  Frowning, she tried to figure out what he might have been doing while they’d been talking with Sarah at her house. “But you were here on campus. You got a job here? Did you have an interview? What job?”

  Did he even realize what this meant? If he had a job with…benefits and…whatever real jobs came with these days—retirement investing—he might suddenly become a viable candidate for dating their friend Susan. Josie nearly shrieked, but held back for the sake of the half-asleep students around them. Plus, she was getting ahead of herself.

  Shut up and let him answer, she told herself.

  “You’re looking at the new interim Director of Food Services at Bader University. My first day on the job is Monday.”

  Josie gawked. And sputtered.

  “Are you okay? Do you need a drink?” He pushed his orange juice glass toward her, but then frowned at its watered-down, powdery appearance. She reached for it, patting herself on the chest. Slapping her hand away from the glass, he said, “Never mind.”

  “How are you… Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but are you qualified for a job like that?”

  “I have an associate’s degree in Culinary Management from Norfolk Community College.”

  “I mean, you can’t just step into a role like—” She paused, grinding to a halt and rewinding. “You have a what?”

  He laughed. “I did night classes a few years ago when I was setting up those mall food carts. I thought it couldn’t hurt.”

  “I…” She ran out of words and simply stared at him. Her long-time slacker friend apparently had more layers to him than she’d ever thought. What was wrong with her? Why did she constantly relegate him to the status of a second-class citizen in their small group of four friends?

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you so flummoxed,” he said. “I kind of like it, but it’s also a little scary, so while you gather your wits about you, I’ll just tell you that I made a call to Benjamin, Sr. I mentioned the other day that he’s some kind of trustee here.”

  He’d called his father? They weren’t on speaking terms. Or so she’d thought.

  “Your father has that much pull here?”

  “You have been in the Humanities building here, correct?”

  That was the building in which Professor Sanborn office was. “Yes. A bunch of times, actually.”

  Benjy smiled. “The Goldsmith Humanities building?”

  Holy crap. That was Benjy’s last name. “That’s named after your dad? I thought they only named buildings after dead people.”

  “Not dead, just filthy stinkin’ rich.” He laughed at her expression. “So I’m going to need your help as I put together a budget and a plan of action to overhaul this place.” He waved his hand in a sweeping gesture around the Zap ’n Slap.

  “Absolutely. Whatever you need.” She was so on it.

  Chapter 42

  Drew was still talking on his phone as they walked down to the auditorium amid the other small groups who were heading in the same direction. Before they were halfway there, he stopped them as he hung up.

  “He has to go,” Benjy told Josie, preemptively guessing.

  “Probably a patient,” she said in agreement.

  “Doctor stuff,” Benjy said.

  Drew jogged to catch up with them. Several admiring heads turned his direction. “Hey guys, I gotta go.”

  Well, it had been nice to have him around. She’d enjoyed it while it lasted—especially waking
up together, even if the dorm bed was tiny…and Benjy had been sharing the room with them.

  “Totally understand,” she said. He was, after all, a doctor with people under his care.

  “You’re going to be stuck here without transportation.” A wrinkle creased his brow.

  “We’re resourceful,” she said.

  “I know how to hot-wire a car,” Benjy offered. Josie and Drew gaped at him. “I’ve never done it. Well, not in the commission of theft. I did lose my keys once and had to drive around with those wires hanging out under the steering wheel. Pretty awkward conversation starter for a first date.”

  More staring at him, open-mouthed.

  “We can take cabs or get one of those for-hire cars. Lifter or Toober or whatever.”

  Drew pulled Josie aside, a worried look on his face. “I don’t want to leave you. There have been a lot of knives turning up around this place, babe. Kind of creepy.”

  “I won’t get in the way of any knives,” she promised, though that was a weird thing to vow. And pretty much impossible to predict. But she’d already been there, done that with the knives thing. She, most of all, didn’t want a repeat of that.

  “And don’t eat any strange green things,” he added, clearly thinking of the oleander leaves.

  “You’ve seen the food here, right?” she said, as if he needed to be reminded of their breakfast. He hadn’t forgotten because he cringed.

  He gave her a quick kiss, which reminded her they had unfinished business from earlier in the morning. “See you at home.”

  She watched him jog back up the hill before she turned and scurried to catch up with Benjy, who was looking down toward the auditorium. “Holy nuts,” he said.

  Ahead of them, a swarm of police cars, lights flashing, lined the entrance to the round building. An actual team of officers in riot gear had just exited the back of a van and stood in a loose cluster listening to their commander’s instructions. Josie had never seen an automatic rifle up close—and she wasn’t that enthusiastic about seeing one now.

  “Tear gas, rubber bullets, Kevlar vests, and helmets with face shields. This is going to be a lot more exciting than I thought,” Benjy said, his nervousness coming out in an uncharacteristically sardonic tone. Was sarcasm contagious? He was starting to sound like her.

  They filed in between the officers, joining the long line of spectators who were waiting to see Ida Mae. The line moved along quickly and, inside the auditorium, they found seats on the side of the room. Josie eyed the nearest exit, ready to make a beeline if anything went south. She had enough distrust of large crowds to begin with, and the added tension in the room was palpable, making her feel like she was crushed in a barn with a herd of cattle, hooves going stompy-stompy right before a storm. She did not want to be trampled by millennials. What an embarrassing obituary that would be.

  Though the event had been well publicized, the room was at less than capacity—by far. Where were the protestors? The sit-in people? The signs, banners, and pins? This was all way more civilized than Josie had expected. Maybe people had stayed away due to the possibility of violence, though the Internet made it seem like that was a draw for some folks.

  The people who had come numbered only a couple hundred, based on Josie’s rough estimation as she glanced around. Most of the other members of the audience seemed to be craning their heads around as well, looking for the same, cellphones poised to capture whatever Internet-worthy drama might unfold.

  On the stage, someone had set up a podium, with several folding chairs flanking either side. Professor Sanborn and his student organizers already filled the chairs. The professor, normally charismatic and in performance mode in front of a crowd, looked subdued and withdrawn, his eyes trained on the stage floor in front of his feet. Once, he scanned the crowd, seeming to look for someone—maybe his wife?

  Murmurs and restless shuffling of feet swept in waves through the audience.

  Ten minutes after the appointed start time for the speaker, Sanborn stood suddenly and approached the podium. He cleared his throat and began speaking in a hurried, muttered monotone.

  “Our guest today has numerous awards and publications to her name. She’s renowned for her off-center opinions on gender roles and though, paradoxically is a member of the workforce, believes women should stay barefoot and pregnant in their homes. Without further ado, Ida Mae Rubens.”

  He slunk back to his chair and resumed staring at the ground.

  Ida Mae Rubens walked halfway to the podium from behind the curtains at stage left. She paused to shoot Sanborn a befuddled, frustrated look, then resumed her course to the microphone. Cranking it down with a loud noise, she brought it to her mouth level to speak.

  It struck Josie that Ida Mae was very similar in looks and build to Jane, if Jane were African-American. Petite with the lean build of a runner, corkscrew curls—black, in Ida Mae’s case—and owlish glasses, they could have been models for the same athletic wear catalog. Short Angry Women in Spandex. Josie could see herself applying for membership to their club in twenty years.

  Ida Mae glared at Sanborn again before she said, “Thanks for that…glowing introduction,” she said, absolutely meaning the opposite. She brought out some papers and smoothed them on the podium in front of her. She shook her head to herself one more time, then she took off her glasses and lay them on the podium as well.

  “Look,” she said, addressing the crowd. “I’m gonna tell it to you straight. I don’t know what kind of shenanigans are at play here, but I am clearly being made a mockery of. I have not been brought here by my supporters—and not even by my detractors. I don’t know what kind of childish game you’re constructing,” she turned around, indicating Sanborn, “but I want no part of it. I will not stand here and speak my piece to apathetic ears when I have been led to believe I was wanted and that my opinions were valued.”

  She took the microphone out of its cradle and said into it, “Call me when you’re serious.” She let the mic drop on the podium with a thud and headed off the stage.

  Chapter 43

  “No! Wait.” Professor Sanborn suddenly awoke from his stupor and jumped to his feet on seeing his guest depart. “You can’t leave yet.”

  “This is downright Shakespearean,” Benjy whispered to Josie, who shushed him in return. The truth was, she didn't want to miss anything either, and this show was just starting to get good.

  The entire audience was rapt, watching the pantomime of the professor chase Ida Mae across the stage. He scooped up the microphone and followed her, giving Josie and the rest of the auditorium excellent audio for the drama—which was good because both of the major players were now behind the curtain and out of sight.

  “You haven’t spoken for a full hour yet. Our agreement was for the full hour. You signed the contract.”

  There was some muffled noise, which Josie wanted to picture as a shoving match.

  “You get your hands off me,” Ida Mae said. Aha. She was right. Contact.

  “But you have to go back out there and talk,” Sanborn said, his voice rising to a high-pitched protestation. “I need you to talk for the full hour.”

  “I don’t have to do a damn thing. Now get your weak-ass hands off me and step off.”

  More rustling and the meaty sound of a hit.

  “Ouch. Son of a bitch. You hit me,” Sanborn’s voice said.

  “That ain’t all. I got plenty more where that came from. You want a piece of me?”

  Damn, Ida Mae was fierce.

  “You’re supposed to be submissive, you fraudulent bitch. What about your whole platform, your diatribe about women being the weaker gender and having to stay home and make the babies?” Sanborn’s voice sounded muffled like he might have been holding his nose.

  “Aaaaahhh. You people never listen. All this sensationalism in the media. My words have been taken out of context time and time again. What I’m saying, you dim-brained, Kewpie-doll, lily-white, man-child—”

  “Oooh, that�
�s a good one,” Josie said. He did kind of look like one of those big-headed, blue-eyed dolls.

  “She didn’t really need to bring race into it though,” Benjy said. Josie conceded the point.

  “—If you or any of you high-and-mighty academics would get your head out of your asses, is that while women aren’t equal to men, we’re in fact superior because we see all the choices laid out ahead of us. And if we’re smart, we would choose to stay home and out of the meaningless wasteland that is corporate America. But no—”

  A repeated muffled noise punctuated Ida Mae’s words. Josie saw members of the audience around her look at each other quizzically.

  “You choose to hear what you—”

  Another muffled, thudding sound.

  “Want—”

  Another thud.

  “To hear.”

  And at that moment, Professor Sanborn was shoved, presumably by Ida Mae, back out onto the stage, where he stood, still holding the mic—and also his nose, as Josie had imagined. He stared off-stage for a half a minute before realizing he had a captive audience, many of whom were now recording and photographing him with their mobile phones.

  Straightening up, he walked with as much manufactured dignity as he could back to the podium where, with deliberate movements, he inserted the microphone back in to its holder. He straightened his shirt collar and dabbed his nose with a handkerchief from his pocket.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, even-voiced and full of poise, “I regret to inform you that today’s speaker has been unexpectedly called away, her presence required elsewhere.”

  His voice, sonorous with rounded vowels, settled Josie’s stomach. He was such a smooth liar, she almost believed him.

  “Though our speaker, of course, signed a contract to appear for the full designated hour,” he added with some bitterness, “she has been unfortuitously called away.”