Coming Up Murder

by Mary Angela

  “How do you think I feel?” he said, sitting down on one of the four chairs in the lobby. “Terrible. I can’t wait to get out of here.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. We sat down. “I’m just glad we figured out what made you sick.”

  “Em figured it out,” said Lenny.

  Andy looked at me for a moment. “Thanks. I didn’t realize.”

  “You’re welcome.” I folded my hands in my lap. “I know you don’t feel well, so I’ll be brief. Do you know how you ingested the antifreeze that night? Did anything at the banquet taste unusual?”

  “The police asked me that, too,” said Andy. “I had those rum and sodas. I started to feel sick after I drank them—and not from overindulging.” He narrowed his eyes, perhaps remembering how Lenny and I assumed he’d drank too much.

  “Did they taste normal?” asked Lenny.

  “I think so,” said Andy. “They came in a big glass. That was different. They’re usually served in cocktail glasses.”

  “If the poison was poured in your drink, it would explain why no one else got sick,” I said. “Plus, antifreeze is sweet, like rum and soda. You wouldn’t be able to detect it.”

  “Why would anyone want to kill me?” said Andy.

  I could name a couple reasons but kept them to myself. “Think back to that night. Did you recognize anyone? See anyone suspicious hanging around the bar?”

  “I don’t know anyone in town, except Tanner, and he’s dead,” said Andy.

  “Maybe you know something about his death,” said Lenny. “Something that could help us catch his killer.”

  “I don’t know anything.” Andy shook his head in exasperation. “I swear.”

  We needed to try a different tactic. I backed up the timeline. “By the time you reached Bluff View Restaurant, someone had already decided to kill you. Think about it. You ordered your drinks right away. Did you fight with anyone before Felix’s keynote speech?”

  He thought a moment. “No.”

  “How about during the speech?” I prodded.

  “Just you two,” he muttered.

  “What do you mean?” said Lenny. “We didn’t argue with you.”

  “You were mad at me, remember?” Andy said. “For dismissing Tanner as a hack.”

  I thought back to the conversation in the auditorium. It wasn’t an argument. We had our opinions; Andy had his. Andy considered Tanner’s research bogus. He said even undergraduates agreed. That gave me an idea. “You mentioned an undergraduate arguing with Tanner at the symposium the morning of his presentation. Did you get a good look at the person?”

  “She had long dark hair, almost as dark as mine,” said Andy. “She was cute.”

  Dark hair again! The problem was none of the suspects had dark hair.

  “How do you know she was an undergrad?” said Lenny.

  “I guess I don’t,” said Andy. “She just looked young.”

  “Was she tall, short, muscular?” Anything might help narrow down the person’s identity.

  “Average, I guess,” said Andy. “I can’t remember. I only remember her hair.”

  I pressed my fingertips to my temples. My head was starting to hurt. Every step forward brought with it a step backwards.

  “You saw her, Emmeline,” said Andy. “You should remember.”

  Black hair was on the skull left in the bathroom and on the flowers in Jacob’s costume. If I’d seen anyone with moderately dark hair this week, besides Andy, I’d remember. “When?”

  “She was the person who asked a question after your presentation,” said Andy. “About murder.”

  “About murder …” I repeated. Now I remembered. She’d asked me why people committed murder. At the time, I thought it was a good question. We assumed only disturbed people committed murder, but from my experience, anyone was capable of the dark deed if they or someone they loved were threatened.

  I closed my eyes, trying to remember her face. Like Andy, I recalled her hair. It was dark, coarse, and a bit frizzy. Most of her face was covered by her hair. She was seated, so I couldn’t determine her stature. Plus, she was in the back row. I wouldn’t have been able to see her well. She wasn’t familiar to me. “I recall she had dark hair. Do you remember her, Lenny?”

  He shook his head. “I remember the question. That’s all.”

  I turned to Andy. “What about her argument with Tanner? What did she say? What did he say? Anything might be helpful.”

  Andy unbuttoned his jacket and leaned back. There was no concealing the discomfort he still felt from the antifreeze poisoning. Even the brush of his clothes seemed to bother him. “She called him a hack. He called her a psycho. Then he pulled at her hair.” He tapped his knee, underscoring his last statement. “Pulling her hair—that was over the top. I wondered if Tanner had a violent temper. He could be pushy with girls.”

  “Em and I have wondered that too,” said Lenny.

  But I’d stopped listening when I heard the word psycho. It was the same word Tanner had used when he left Mia’s house. Whoever killed him was inside the house that day. I’d bet my tulip bulbs on it. I needed to find a way into the house.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “No way,” was Lenny’s answer when I told him about my plan to sneak into Mia’s house that night. We were sitting at my kitchen table, eating the soup Mrs. Gunderson had brought me. Filled with chicken, vegetables, and homemade pasta, it was delicious.

  I dunked a piece of French bread. “They’ll be at the All-Star volleyball game. Remember? Hailey’s receiving an award.”

  “Since when do you follow sports?”

  “Since two of the suspects play them,” I said, putting down my bread. “All I want to do is get in there and take a quick look around. I might be able to spot something that tells me who the killer is, handwriting, for instance.”

  From their separate chairs, Lenny and Dickinson stared. It felt like they were ganging up on me.

  “We’re professors,” said Lenny. “We can’t go sneaking into a student’s house.”

  I knew what he said was true. But I also knew I had a duty to protect students from the killer. Life was precious and could be taken in an instant. I wasn’t going to allow it to happen to one of them. “The murderer tried to kill me and Andy. I’m not going to let anyone else get hurt.”

  “Which is exactly why you should leave this to the police,” said Lenny. “You just got out of the hospital. You promised Beamer you’d take care of yourself.”

  “We have to take care of the students, too. There has to be a way to do both.” I stirred my soup, thinking of legal ways to get into the house—without the roommates watching my every move. Then it came to me. It was the end of the semester; the house was for rent. We could ask to see it tonight while they were at the game. I told Lenny, “Say you’re the one looking to rent—so that you can be closer to me,” I said. “Everyone knows I live down the street.”

  Lenny paused, his spoon in the air. “I’m not sure I’d want to be your neighbor.”

  “Very funny,” I said, grabbing my purse. “I’m a great neighbor. Just ask Mrs. Gunderson.” On my cellphone was a missed call and voicemail. I didn’t recognize the number. I put the phone on the table and pressed the speaker button.

  “Hi, Emmeline. This is Petal Petersen. Just talked to my employee, and she said a girl with black hair bought the plant. Probably college aged. Anyway, that’s all I know. I hope it helps. Take care.”

  “Black hair, again!” I shut the phone app and opened the Internet, searching for the rental agency. “I’m putting it out of my mind, Lenny. I’m focusing on this agency, that house, and the facts.” I pressed the number for the office. “Black hair doesn’t fit.”

  “The fact is someone with black hair is involved in Tanner’s murder,” said Lenny. “You’d better get used to the idea, whether you like it or not.”

  I put my finger to my lips to quiet him. When the listing agent got on the line, I told him the situation. Lenny and I n
eeded to see the house tonight. Could we meet at half-past seven? He agreed, and I clicked off the line.

  “So, what if I end up liking the house?” said Lenny. “Do I have your permission to rent it? I like the idea of being closer to you.”

  “Believe me, you won’t,” I said, gathering our soup bowls, “like the house, I mean. I don’t pass by that place without getting a chill. It’s creepy.” I gave him a smile. “But closer would be nice.”

  He pulled me onto his lap. “This close?”

  I set down the bowls on the table. “That’s pretty close.”

  He brushed my lips with his. I could feel the stubble of his five o’clock shadow.

  “I like being here,” he said.

  “I like you being here.”

  Offended by the lack of attention, Dickinson jumped up on the table and meowed in our faces.

  “I guess someone else likes your being here, too,” I said with a laugh.

  * * *

  When seven thirty came, we were ready. I wore a hat to disguise my curls and limit neighborhood gossip. I didn’t want it getting back to the students that I’d snooped in their house, even if it was for their own good, and I knew very well how neighbors talked. Especially with the nice weather, they were bound to be outside, soaking up the last warm rays of the day. If they didn’t recognize me, it would mean one less chance for word to get back to the students. I was convinced one of them was the killer. Until I figured out who, I needed to be careful. I didn’t want to draw attention to any of the other girls. I could take care of myself, but the girls weren’t aware of the danger of their situation. As long as they remained ignorant, they were safe from retaliation.

  The students across the street were playing Frisbee, but to my delight, they were also listening to music and drinking beer. They didn’t notice Lenny and me walk up the front steps to meet the man from the rental agency, or if they did, they paid scant attention and went right back to their game.

  “Hi, I’m Emmeline. We spoke on the phone.” I stuck out my hand, and the agent shook it. “And this is Lenny. He’s the one looking to rent.”

  “To be closer to my loved one,” added Lenny, shaking the agent’s hand.

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Still, it was nice being called his loved one, even comically.

  “Good to meet you both,” said the agent, but all his attention was on his prospective renter. “I’m Roger.” He opened the door with his key. “This beauty hasn’t been available for three years. Grad students have been renting it, but a couple of them graduate in May. It’ll go fast, so look carefully.”

  I glanced around the foyer. Were we looking at the same house? Even in the last hour of sunlight, the rooms were dark. The heavily curtained windows didn’t help, nor did the fringed shades, which added another layer of darkness. The woodwork was dark walnut. Had the windows been open, it would have been tolerable. As it was, however, the air was stifling.

  “A little messy,” said Roger, “but what can you expect? They’re college students, and they weren’t expecting me to bring someone through tonight.”

  “Not a problem,” I said, looking past the rumpled pillows and blankets on the floor. “We understand. The kitchen is this way?”

  “Yep, straight through the dining area there,” said Roger.

  I hadn’t realized it was a dining area. It was stuffed with a green reclining sofa and flat-screen TV. I squeezed through the doorway to the kitchen. I thought I might find a snippet of handwriting or something else that would confirm the killer lived in the house. Cereal boxes, noodle packages, paper plates—but no writing. I checked for a bulletin board, anywhere I might see uppercase writing. I shook my head at Lenny. It was time to head upstairs to the bedrooms.

  “Would you mind showing me the furnace, water heater—the electrical room?” Lenny asked Roger. “I’d like to check out the bones of the place.”

  “No problem,” said Roger. “It’s in the basement.”

  “I’m going to look upstairs,” I said.

  The wood on the staircase was beautiful, but the steps were covered in blue shag carpet that reached all four bedrooms. The doors were shut. I hesitated to open them. These were their private sanctuaries. I took a breath and opened the first door. What I was doing could save a life. If that meant seeing someone’s underpants, so be it.

  I didn’t know enough about the students to identify whose room I was in. A twin mattress was on the floor, covered with a raggedy quilt. I peeked in the tiny closet and saw a picture of the volleyball team. It had to be Hailey’s room. She also had a baseball bat. The Riverside Edition of Shakespeare was in there, too. That was interesting. From what she’d told me, she was into set design. I supposed anyone with a love of theater studied Shakespeare, though. I thumbed through the book, wondering if maybe I’d find a torn page like the one left in the garden. Nothing.

  The next room was Mia’s. I could tell from the posters on the wall, drawings of elaborate costumes labeled with their characters—Marie Antoinette, Lady Macbeth, and others. On her desk was a sketch pad and colored pencils. I opened the drawer. A worn leather journal was tucked inside. I paused, struggling with the ethics of reading someone else’s private thoughts. I valued journaling too much to expose a writer, but these were extraordinary circumstances. I checked over my shoulder. Lenny and Roger were still downstairs. I opened it up.

  What I found were pages and pages of Mia dealing with Tanner’s death. The sadness, the guilt. At times, she said, she’d wished him dead. But why? I thumbed backwards. “That’s why,” I said out loud. Tanner had been abusive, mentally and—recently—physically. Small instances at first—tugging her hand, grabbing her arm—and then squeezing her shoulder and leaving a bruise. Every time he hurt her, she believed he was sorry. That their relationship would go back to normal after his research was finished and his part in Hamlet was over. She excused it as stress. He’d never treated Mackenzie this way when they’d dated. Why did he do it to her? Had she done something to provoke the behavior? She blamed herself.

  I put the journal away. It was heartbreaking. It also gave her a motive for killing Tanner. But the writing was in cursive, not all-caps. Thomas said whoever wrote the sonnet habitually used all caps. He could be wrong. “I could be too,” I said as I shut the door quietly behind me.

  In the hallway, I opened the closet. Towels, toilet paper, flat irons, curling irons—I pushed them aside. I looked for anything with flowers on the labels: perfume, lotion, shampoo. If one of them had an affinity for flowers, I couldn’t tell from their hygiene products.

  Next to the closet was a laundry chute with an ornately carved door. At one time, the house might have been grand, maybe even the envy of the neighborhood. Laundry chutes were nifty ways to get clothes from one level to another. Theoretically, I could send something down to the basement right now, and Lenny would catch it. I probably shouldn’t try. From the force required to yank open the door, the chute hadn’t been used for some time.

  I looked into the void in the wall. No metal, no plastic, just a dark wooden tunnel. I stuck my head in, tempted to call down to Lenny just for the fun of it. That’s when I saw something dark in a crevice. I squinted, getting a closer look. Was it a dead animal? I reached out to touch it and jerked back, hitting my head. It was fuzzy, like an animal. I took a deep breath and tried again. It wasn’t fur. It was … hair. I turned the black mass over in my hands. Of course, a wig! What an idiot I’d been. The woman with black hair was wearing a wig. That’s why she didn’t fit with my suspects. But which one of them wore it? I thought back to my presentation. It was impossible to know.

  I took off my hat and slipped on the wig, stuffing my ponytail under the elastic cap. I wasn’t completely successful, and it took several tries. I turned to the full-length hallway mirror. The transformation was startling. No wonder I didn’t recognize any of them. I didn’t recognize myself. The long black hair and blunt bangs disguised every feature. My skin looked pale, my eyes appea
red darker, and my face seemed smaller, engulfed by hair.

  “What are you doing in Mia’s wig?”

  I saw Alice reflected in the mirror. Dread coursed through my veins. I felt vulnerable, exposed, and embarrassed. There was no way other than the truth to explain what I was doing.

  I pulled the wig off my head. “Is this Mia’s? It’s a fun way to try a new look.”

  “She needs it for the theater,” said Alice. “You shouldn’t have it on.”

  It made sense. The same hair was found in the skull and on the bouquet of flowers—both in the theater. I turned around and gave it to her.

  “What are you doing here? What’s going on?” She was trying to be polite. I was a professor and she was a good student. But she knew something was very wrong.

  “Professor Jenkins is thinking about renting this house next year,” I said. “We’re here with the realtor. They’re in the basement.”

  “So you decided to come up here and go through our things?” Alice said.

  The confusion in her voice was clear, and I didn’t know how to respond. Here was a student I liked, who’d enrolled in my class next semester, and she’d found me upstairs in her house with her friend’s wig on. I had to tell her why. I couldn’t allow her to think I was a creep. “Look, Alice, I’m going to be frank with you. I think you’re in danger. I think Mia might have done something to Tanner, and she might do something to one of you. You need to be careful.”

  “Mia?” Alice shook her head. “No, Tanner was the one who hurt her. She would never hurt one of us.”

  “I understand how you feel, but you have to believe me,” I said. “If she was being abused, it’s all the more reason for her to strike out again.”

  “Why should I believe you?” Her brown eyes narrowed on me. “I’ve known Mia for almost three years.”

  She was smart and would listen to reason. I tried explaining. “I’m a good teacher. I care about my students. Ask anyone. I didn’t mean any harm—just the opposite. I’m trying to protect you and your roommates.”