by Mary Angela
I noticed Lydia walk to the deck after her dish was cleared. Now was my chance to get to know her better.
“I could use some fresh air,” I said to Lenny. “How about you?”
Lenny stood. “If by getting fresh air you mean cornering Lydia on the deck, I’m game. I’d like to know who taught her to slip in and out of places like a ghost.”
Lenny helped me with my coat, and Claudia reprimanded us with a look. “You know you’re getting as bad as Em, right?”
“I’m supporting her interests,” said Lenny. “It’s what any good boyfriend would do.”
I beamed at him.
Claudia shook her head as we walked past her.
The evening was clear, and the stars sparkled like silver confetti in the night sky. The land was as flat as the horizon, the two melting together into a vastness that made me feel small. This close to the bluff, I could hear the river flowing down below, the burble of water over the rocks. The murmur of people on the deck couldn’t quell the distinctive sound, so rare on the Great Plains.
Near the edge of the deck, Lydia stood with her back to us, her narrow shoulders covered in a thin sweater. While others formed small groups, Lydia was alone and appeared comfortable in her aloneness. With the crush of people inside, maybe she needed to get away. For a moment, I reconsidered approaching her, and in that moment, Thomas Cook joined us on the deck. He greeted us with a hearty hello.
I returned his greeting. In the few years Thomas had been on campus, he’d changed. We’d changed. The first time I met him, he came off as East Coast intelligentsia, bragging about his hip dissertation. He was friendlier now—though still very au courant. One glance at his slim-fit jacket and perfect highlights told you that.
“Not a bad way to end the conference,” said Thomas. “I enjoyed dinner thoroughly.”
“The night isn’t half-bad either,” said Lenny. “I can’t believe how warm this spring has been.”
“I’m sure we’ll pay for it sometime or another,” said Thomas.
We were talking about the weather like real South Dakotans.
Thomas glanced at Lydia. “I’d better see how Lydia is faring. She was worried the gluten-free option wasn’t really gluten-free.”
“We’ll join you,” I said.
We started in the direction of Lydia, who jumped when Thomas touched her arm.
“Sorry,” she said to Thomas. “You startled me.”
Lydia was thin and tall. Maybe that’s why she seemed frail. Or maybe it was her eyes. Studying her, I wondered if that’s where Lenny got the idea of a ghost. There was something behind her melancholy expression, a painful memory that time couldn’t heal, perhaps.
“We’re having a great time,” said Lenny. “Right, Em?”
Whatever Lydia had said, I’d missed it. Lenny was prompting me to answer. “Wonderful,” I said. “How about you? Thomas said your gluten-free meal might have been misrepresented.”
“I think so,” said Lydia. “When you’re gluten intolerant, it’s impossible to get a decent meal out.”
No wonder I didn’t see her around town. “I suppose you eat in most nights?”
She nodded. “It’s the only way to know if the meal’s been prepared correctly.”
“Thomas says you work from home, too,” I said.
She and Thomas shared a smile. “You’re right, Thomas. She is inquisitive.”
“I’m sorry,” I said with a chuckle. “I don’t mean to pry into your business.”
“Not at all,” said Lydia. “I’m teach online history courses for a college in Rhode Island.”
“I didn’t realize,” I said. “I love history.”
“You’ll have to enroll in one of her classes,” said Thomas, putting his arm around her. “In Massachusetts, she received the Teacher of the Year Award.”
She brushed aside the accolade. “That was a long time ago.”
“That’s cool,” said Lenny. “You should teach something on our campus.”
“I know the history chair,” I added. “I’d be happy to talk to her.”
Lydia shook her head. She looked genuinely worried. “No, please don’t. I mean, I’m happy where I am.”
Thomas must have seen the question on my face. “Thank you, Emmeline. It’s a kind offer, but like Lydia said, she’s perfectly happy teaching from home.”
The deck door burst open, and I turned to see what was causing the commotion. It was Andy, and it looked as if he had refilled his glass more than once. He might be a burgeoning author, but he was still a graduate student. He didn’t know when to curtail his drinking. We’d all been there. I wasn’t going to judge.
“I think I like Andy when he’s drinking,” said Lenny. The group followed Lenny’s eyes, which were on Andy. “He’s much happier like this.”
Maybe a little too happy. He was swerving around clumps of people like an indie race car driver. It might be time to get him home. I didn’t want him to embarrass himself.
“We’re his ride,” I explained to Thomas and Lydia. “We’d better get him back. I don’t want him getting in trouble with Felix. It was really nice talking to you, Lydia. I hope to catch up with you again sometime.”
“Yes, I’d like that,” said Lydia.
Lenny was saying his goodbyes when I heard the crash. It appeared we hadn’t intervened in time after all. Andy had run into a table and fallen flat on his face, spilling his drink.
Chapter Nineteen
Andy complained all the way back to Copper Bluff. His head, his stomach—everything hurt. He was certain he’d contracted food poisoning. I assumed the complaints were excuses for falling at Bluff View Restaurant. He was embarrassed, and why wouldn’t he be? His reputation as an upright young scholar disappeared as quickly as his drinks. Nothing was wrong with the food. If there were, we’d all be sick, I told him.
Andy let out a loud moan from the backseat, and Lenny rolled his eyes. He was losing patience, and so was I. The quicker we got him back to the hotel, the better. Lenny stepped on the gas, and soon we were at the edge of Copper Bluff, stopping at the first light into town.
“Where are you staying?” Lenny asked.
“The Happy Rest Motel,” said Andy. “But take it from me, it’s anything but happy and restful.”
“It’s only for one more night, right?” I said. “You leave tomorrow.”
“Thank god,” said Andy. “This trip has been a good reminder of why I left this area in the first place.”
“Will you be back for Tanner’s funeral?” I asked.
“We weren’t close anymore,” said Andy. “Why would I go to the funeral?”
To see your victim one last time?
Lenny turned into the motel parking lot. “He was your friend.”
“I don’t have friends,” said Andy with a laugh. “My success has made me an outcast.”
Thank goodness we were about to be rid of him. I couldn’t tolerate one more minute. He was more exasperating drunk than sober. “Is Giles taking you to the airport?” I asked.
He didn’t answer, and I wondered if he’d passed out. I looked in the backseat. His eyes were closed but fluttered open.
“Hmm?” said Andy. “Oh yes. Our plane leaves at three.”
“Safe travels to you both,” I said as Lenny pulled into a parking spot. “I look forward to reading your new book.”
“Get some sleep,” said Lenny. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Andy sat up and looked out the window. He mumbled his thanks as he stumbled out of the car. He held his stomach all the way to the door.
I gestured to Andy. “You don’t think it’s food poisoning, right?”
“Not unless you get food poisoning by drinking Captain Morgan.”
“Right,” I said. “And we feel fine.”
“Better than fine,” said Lenny.
I smiled. “I talked to Owen Parrish again. He insisted I rewrite the ending.”
“Are you going to?”
“
What choice do I have?” My block was quiet except for a boom, boom, boom coming from down the street. Somewhere students were celebrating to a strong bass beat. I just hoped they didn’t celebrate all night. I had grading to finish tomorrow.
“What did you think of Lydia?” Lenny asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I have a feeling Thomas is protecting her from something, but I don’t know what.”
“Us?” said Lenny with a laugh.
I gave him a shove.
“Something in her past?” Lenny said.
I nodded. “She was petrified when I said I could get her in touch with the history chair. Did you notice that? I wonder what happened.”
Lenny stopped in front of my house. “If I know you, you’ll find out sooner or later. Let’s just make it later, okay? I hear a bottle of vino calling our names.”
After Lenny left, I had a hard time falling asleep. Actually, I didn’t even try. Wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, I lay reading in bed, shoving various pillows behind my head to get comfortable enough for sleep. It was impossible to relax. First, the bass beat still thudded somewhere in the vicinity. Second, I had too much on my mind, mainly Tanner’s death. He’d been murdered for knowledge, love, or money, which didn’t narrow down the motives or the suspects. Andy was leaving tomorrow, and so was Felix. If they had anything to do with Tanner’s death, how would the police catch up with them? I wished I’d had more time to talk to Andy—and that he’d been capable of coherent conversation when we dropped him off.
My friendship with Giles also weighed heavily on my mind. Giles had given me the green light to investigate, and I had nothing to show for my efforts. Then there was the little matter of truncating my book to end on a more positive note and reduce the word count. The thought of deleting all those hours of work made me want to punch Owen Parrish in the face, but I settled for fluffing a pillow. Eventually, after I flung it to the floor, I decided to take a walk to ease my mind—and tell the music lovers down the street to call it a night.
The air was still, and as I descended my stairs, I waited for a breeze to surprise me, bursting between a house or building like a thief absconding with his ill-gotten gains. But the wind was silent. The only sound was the thumping of the stereo in the distance. It wasn’t an angry sound; it was like the beating of a heart, pumping constantly whether we were asleep or awake. It was the pulse of a college town, refusing to conform to schedules or nightly rituals.
Soon I realized the party was a block over. If it hadn’t quieted by the time I was finished with my walk, I would take a detour and ask them to shut off their music. Right now I was enjoying the spring night and the promise of summer. Everywhere I looked, the campus landscape was returning to life. Vibrant colors scrubbed away the brown and gray, with newly planted flowers along the pathways and budding bushes ready to bloom. Cherry trees scented the air, and the maple tree on the corner, the one I thought of as a friend, had returned to its former leafy glory like the note of a robin, strong and certain.
As I walked to Harriman Hall, I felt part of the change, as if I, myself, was coming back to life. I’d made it; we all had. We’d endured heavy snowfalls, icy roads, and subzero temperatures. Spring, this beauty around me, was our reward.
Since buildings were locked at ten, I took out my keys as I opened the heavy outer door with a shove. I liked the peacefulness of my office, my home away from home. Sometimes I would grade papers, read, or simply enjoy the scent of honeysuckle wafting into my window. Tonight I had a book in mind I wanted to consult, one about Shakespeare. It was a slim volume my mother had given me in college, and I liked its conciseness.
Despite the cool night, my office was stuffy, insulated by all the books. Leaving my keys in the doorknob, I flicked on my two lamps, one on the desk and one standing. Then I began searching my shelves for the Shakespeare book. Originally, my books had been organized by literary periods. During my three years on campus, however, they’d rearranged themselves according to use. I rarely referenced my Shakespeare collection, so finding the one I wanted was easy.
Holding the book, I flopped into my floral-patterned chair in the corner alcove. A cricket chirped in the distance, keeping me company. I flipped to the chapter on Hamlet, which contained summary and analysis. I couldn’t say what I was looking for. I only had a dim recollection of something I’d once read to guide me. A lot of my academic searches started this way. I’d read something in a book and now wanted to reread it. It was the reason I never threw anything out, no matter how obscure or unrelated to my field.
Halfway through the chapter, I began to wonder if I had the wrong book. Then I found it, a line in Hamlet highlighted with yellow marker: “That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain!” The line is aimed at Claudius, King Hamlet’s brother and murderer. But I found myself thinking of Tanner, who was also a great performer. What I knew about him had to do with performing—the actor, the scholar, the victim—but who was he, really? The analysis pointed out that performance and authenticity are important themes in the play. I decided they were important in my investigation as well.
How long I read I couldn’t say. Shakespeare had never captured my heart as completely as a romance novel, so it probably wasn’t very long. I woke up feeling refreshed and very, very warm. A couple of sticky blinks told me the sun was out and that I’d spent the night in my office. In my jogging pants. Terror-struck at the thought of my colleagues seeing me this way, I sat up, and the Shakespeare book fell to the floor. The clock on the wall read ten. I remembered it was Sunday; thankfully, no one would see me creep out the door in my joggers. If Barb caught me like this, I’d never hear the end of it.
I hurried down the stairs. The door to Harriman Hall was still ajar. I chided myself for my irresponsibility. I’d worked there three years. I knew the door stuck. I should have pulled it shut when I came in. Oh well. No harm done. I shut it now.
My cellphone buzzed as I walked toward Oxford Street. It was Lenny.
“So this is weird,” he said.
“What?” I glanced around. Could he see me leaving the campus?
“Andy did have food poisoning,” said Lenny. “I just left the hospital.”
“What the heck? Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want to wake you,” he said. “Andy called me at four this morning. His stomach was killing him, and he needed a ride to the hospital. He’s really sick.”
I hurried across the crosswalk. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I’m sure he will be,” said Lenny. “He was back to his old self-righteous ways. He said he knew he’d eaten something rotten. He was completely vindicated. What’s that noise? Are you outside?”
“I fell asleep in my office,” I said. “I’m just walking home.”
The line was silent for a moment. “I don’t like you going to the campus in the middle of the night, alone. It’s dangerous.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said.
“I’m serious, Em. I worry about you.” I’d never heard Lenny sound this angry.
“I know you are,” I said, approaching my cheery yellow bungalow. “But you also know I have insomnia. I need outlets.” I waved at Mrs. Gunderson, who was sweeping her front steps.
Lenny let out a breath. “Find other ones—at least until Tanner’s murder is solved.”
I spotted something purple on my porch. “What’s this? Did you leave me something?” I bent down to inspect the flower.
“Leave you what?” asked Lenny. “What are you talking about?”
“A pansy …” I said in a voice barely above a whisper. I didn’t need Jane to tell me what it meant or the connection to Shakespeare. A pansy was for thoughts.
Chapter Twenty
I spun around, the miniature flowerpot in hand. “Who did this?” I yelled at the neighborhood. There was no answer from the psychologists next door, nor the family across the street. Lenny, still on the line, told me to calm down. I tossed the flower over the front railin
g of my stoop. Now it was in my yard, the petals still picture-perfect. I stomped down the steps, walked into my yard, and crushed them with my tennis shoe. It was then I noticed Mrs. Gunderson staring at me. Mrs. Gunderson, the eyes and ears of our block—who was I kidding?—the entire town. I’d have to explain.
“I gotta go, Lenny. I’ll call you back after I shower.” I clicked off the phone and turned to Mrs. Gunderson.
“I know you have a hard time growing plants, Emmeline, but really, that was uncalled for.” Mrs. Gunderson, wearing navy-blue pants and a flowered top, held a plastic watering can in her hand. Her dog, Darling, lay near her Hostas, and I read judgment on his spoilt mug.
“It’s not that,” I said. “Someone is messing with me. They keep leaving me flowers, notes, clues that I can’t piece together. Have you seen anyone around my house this morning?”
“I went to church at eight thirty,” said Mrs. Gunderson. “So I haven’t been home the entire time, but I haven’t seen anyone near your house. Rest assured, if I did, I would ask them what they were doing. I’m not afraid to call out hooligans when I see them acting up.”
I knew she meant what she said. I’d seen her approach students, neighbors, and police officers with the same idea: it was her neighborhood and she would decide what did and did not happen on her block. “Just be careful,” I said. “Something very strange is going on, and I don’t want you involved.”
She set down the watering can with a plunk. “I most certainly will get involved. I’m not as old and frail as I look.”
She looked anything but old and frail. With pink lips, curled hair, and church clothes, she was more put-together than I was most days. She had a strong will that went along with her sturdy polyester pants. “I’m just saying, if you see something, call the police. I don’t know what kind of creep I’m dealing with. I have no idea where these came from.”
“Why don’t you check the price tag?” Mrs. Gunderson said, approaching my yard. Darling followed.
