by Bill Crider
“We haven’t established the time yet. But we will. You can count on that.”
“How do you know he didn’t kill himself?”
“It’s a possibility. But there was no note, and it didn’t look like an accident.”
Sally had a few more questions, but Weems had left without giving out any more information.
Now Sally was trying to figure out what it all meant. She couldn’t imagine Desmond or even Roy Talon slipping somebody a glass of fabric softener. They were more direct types. Roy Don would want a shoot-out on Main Street, and Desmond would probably prefer the same.
Seepy Benton was another story. He wasn’t the macho type, and poison might just be his weapon of choice, that is, if he ever chose to kill somebody. Sally thought it might be a good idea to talk to him, so she picked up her phone and called his office. Molly Evans answered, and when Sally asked about an appointment, Molly told her to come on by whenever she felt like it.
“Dr. Benton will be in the office all morning. He’s working on some kind of statistical analysis of the faculty salaries in the Gulf Coast-area colleges. It’s not a lot of fun, and Dr. Benton would be glad for a break.”
Sally said she’d come by after class. She hung up and got her books together, hoping she could get through a discussion of “Berenice” without having to answer any questions about editorials in the local newspaper.
As it turned out, she could. She should have known that hardly any of her students read the paper. If they got any news at all, they got it from television. And if their parents read the paper, they didn’t discuss it with their offspring.
Sally gave a pop quiz on the story, handled Wayne’s questions as best she could, and then launched into a discussion of “Berenice.” Several of the students seemed fascinated with the idea that it might be about vampirism, and one of them even asked if vampirism figured into “The Fall of the House of Usher.”
“That Madeline is pretty creepy,” the student said.
“That’s an excellent observation,” Sally told him, amazed that someone was reading ahead, “and that’s what we’ll be talking about on Friday. Please read the story very carefully if you haven’t already, and keep in mind what we’ve discussed today.”
Several people stayed after class for a few minutes to talk about one thing or another—vampires, research papers, their grades—so Sally was a little later in getting to Seepy Benton’s office than she’d planned. It didn’t matter, however, as Molly waved her on in as soon as she arrived.
“He hasn’t even taken a coffee break,” Molly said. “He’s dedicated to his job.”
Sally went into the office, only slightly daunted by the coonskin cap and whip that hung on the coatrack.
“About that whip,” Molly called. “I want you to know that my relationship with Dr. Benton is strictly professional.”
“I never doubted it for a second,” Sally said.
“The guitar is the most dangerous weapon in there,” Molly said. “Don’t let him get his hands on it.”
Seepy Benton looked up from the pile of papers on his desk and smiled.
“She complains a lot, but she loves my music. I wrote a new song last night. It’s called ‘Friends Don’t Let Friends Vote Republican.’ Want to hear it?”
“No,” Molly said from the outer office. “We don’t. Not again. Spare me.”
“What a kidder,” Seepy said. “Just let me get my guitar, and I’ll sing it for you.”
“I don’t really have time,” Sally said.
She didn’t want to be ungracious, but she wasn’t in the mood for a song.
Seepy gazed at her sadly.
“It’s too bad that none of the English teachers appreciate poetry,” he said. “Jack Neville felt the same way about listening to my songs.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to hear the song. It’s just that I have other things on my mind. I need to talk to you about your meeting with Harold Curtin. The one that Roy Don Talon and Eric Desmond went to with you.”
Seepy leaned back in his chair. “Oh. That one.”
“Yes,” Sally said. “I think you forgot to mention it to Jack when he came by yesterday.”
Seepy leaned forward. “Molly, why don’t you take a break. Go to the cafeteria and have some of that good frozen yogurt.”
“I know when I’m not wanted,” Molly said. “But I’ll be back in half an hour. You can sing after I leave if you want to. I don’t mind.”
She left, and when the outer door closed, Seepy said, “I thought that meeting was a secret.”
“Not from me,” Sally said. “Dr. Fieldstone told me about it. I think you and he should get Desmond to tell Weems that you were there at Curtin’s apartment that night, especially now that we know Curtin has been murdered.”
Seepy’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t aware that we knew that.”
“It was supposed to be in the Houston paper today, but I don’t know if it was.”
Sally hadn’t taken the time to read the paper that morning. She’d had to call her mother, having forgotten to call her back after the episode with the Mothers Against Witchcraft. The call had taken a full twenty minutes, with Sally escaping only by claiming that it was time for her to leave for the college.
“I didn’t see anything about it,” Seepy said. “But I wasn’t looking. It could have slipped by me.”
“I expect that Dr. Fieldstone would have called you if it had been in there. He might not know yet, himself. Maybe we should go tell him.”
Seepy didn’t like that idea, but Sally made him see the wisdom of it. He called Eva Dillon and told her that he needed to see Fieldstone.
“Something important has come up,” he said.
He listened for a second, then hung up.
“She said that Dr. Fieldstone would see me as soon as I could get there.” He stood up and went over to the coatrack. “I might need my bullwhip for this meeting.”
Sally didn’t think so. She thought he’d need an asbestos suit instead of the black-and-gold Hawaiian shirt he was wearing.
“Leave the whip. You can wear the cap if you want to.”
“I could, at that. It makes me feel like a rugged frontiersman.”
Sally couldn’t believe he was actually considering it.
“On second thought,” she said, “forget it. Let’s go.”
They left the office, but Seepy gave a wistful look over his shoulder at the cap and whip as they went out the door.
Fieldstone had heard the news about Curtin from Eric Desmond, who was waiting in Fieldstone’s office when they got there.
“This is serious,” Fieldstone said. “We could have a little public relations problem with this.”
Sally thought that it was a lot more than a little public relations problem. Harold Curtin had been murdered, after all, and he might have been killed by one of the four people in the room. Or by a board member, Roy Don Talon. There was nothing “little” about the problems that could come from that.
“We didn’t kill Harold Curtin, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Seepy told Fieldstone. “Roy Don, Chief Desmond, and I can each serve as an alibi for the others. We were all together, and I can swear that none of us killed him.”
“He was poisoned,” Desmond said. “I talked to Weems this morning.”
“And you didn’t tell him you’d been there?” Sally said.
She knew it was a mistake to imply criticism of the chief, but she couldn’t help herself. It just slipped out.
“I didn’t tell him,” Desmond admitted. “I thought it would look bad to tell him at this late date. We should have told him sooner.”
“I didn’t want him to tell,” Fieldstone said, in a rare instance of taking the blame. “I thought it would reflect poorly on the school if word about the meeting got out. Now I know I was wrong and that keeping quiet is only going to cause more problems. We have to deal with this right now, before it gets any worse.” He stopped to look at Sally. “I asked Dr. G
ood to tell Weems about the meeting, but apparently she hasn’t gotten around to it yet.”
“I had other things to worry about,” Sally said.
“Yes, I suppose that’s true. That editorial in the Journal was terrible. I’ve talked to Christopher Matthys about it, and he’s going to try to get the paper to print a retraction and an apology. He’s threatening them with a lawsuit, but we don’t really have grounds for one. The best thing I can say about the editorial is that when people find out Curtin was murdered, they’ll forget about the witches who teach here.”
“No witches teach here,” Sally said.
“What about that book? The one on Wicca?”
“Anybody can own a book. The only people who object are the Mothers Against Witchcraft, and there aren’t that many of them.”
“They’re vocal, though. Very vocal.”
“Their leader was also working with Curtin,” Seepy said. “Jennifer Jackson. Tell him about what we saw, Chief.”
“We saw a car just as we were leaving Curtin’s apartment,” Desmond said. “It pulled up to the curb not far from us. Dr. Benton mentioned it at the time, but I didn’t think anything of it. Now I do, because Roy Don Talon said that Sherm Jackson drives one just like it.”
“So what?” Fieldstone said.
“So maybe he or his wife had a meeting with Curtin after we did.”
“Exactly what happened at your meeting?” Sally said. “Dr. Fieldstone said words were exchanged and that things got rough.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Seepy said. “We might have raised our voices a little, but Curtin was drunk. He was doing most of the yelling. He said some things he shouldn’t have, about Larry Lawrence.”
Fieldstone looked at Desmond, and Sally realized that he’d heard the stories about Lawrence’s daughter.
“They were personal things,” Seepy went on. “They had nothing to do with what we’d gone there to discuss. Curtin was drunk, but he still shouldn’t have said them.”
“He had a right,” Desmond said. “I behaved badly with Linda Lawrence, and Larry’s very upset about it. I’ve tried to help out, but he won’t hear of it. He’s determined to hurt the college if he can, and it’s my fault. I’m trying to work things out with Linda, and things are a lot better between us. I’ve gotten her some help for her problems, and she’s almost straightened out. Not that Larry cares.”
“And it’s none of Curtin’s business,” Seepy said. “He was out of bounds. But even with the yelling, there was no rough stuff. Curtin tried to stand up once, and he fell down. I helped him back into his chair. That’s all that happened.”
Sally wondered if they were telling the truth. They’d had time to get together and concoct whatever story they wanted to tell. Still, Desmond sounded genuinely sorry about Linda Lawrence, and maybe he really was trying to do the right thing.
“Anyway,” Seepy said, “we didn’t kill anybody. And as I was saying before we got off the track, I’m sure that one of the Jacksons was there at Curtin’s after we left. Maybe both of them.”
“To discuss the bond issue, do you think?” Sally said.
“Maybe,” Seepy said. “But Curtin was alive when we left. Maybe they’re the ones who killed him.”
“Then Weems has to be told.”
“I know,” Desmond said. “I’ll talk to him.”
“You do that,” Fieldstone said. “Right now.”
20
Troy Beauchamp was waiting for Sally outside her locked office door.
“I see you got the memo,” he said, tapping on the door.
“Yes,” Sally said.
She didn’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him that she’d known about the memo before it had even been written. She handed her books to Troy, who held them while she got the key from her purse and unlocked the door. They went into the office and Sally told him to put the books on her desk.
“Anywhere you can find a spot,” she said.
Troy looked around for a couple of seconds before saying there wasn’t a spot.
Sally took the books and put them on a precarious stack of papers. When the stack started to slide, she stopped it and jiggled it around.
“Stay right there,” she said, and it did. Maybe she was a witch after all.
Troy was fairly bouncing on his toes with eagerness by that time. He must have had some big news.
“So, Troy, what’s going on?” Sally said to give him his opening.
“Harold Curtin was murdered!”
Let him have his fun, Sally thought. She said, “No! Really?”
“Poisoned,” Troy said. “I heard Chief Desmond saying something about it to one of the other cops.”
“Then I’m off the hook.”
“That’s right. But did you read that editorial in the Journal?”
Sally said that she had.
“Those swine. I wonder who they could be talking about. Besides you, that is.”
If he didn’t know, Sally wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.
“It doesn’t matter. Anyone could have a book about Wicca in her office. Or his office. Even you.”
“I don’t, though.”
“What about Greek religion? You teach the world literature course. You must have something about the Greek gods.”
“Well, of course. But that’s not like witchcraft.”
“Sure it is. There’s Medea, for example. But the whole system is pagan and contrary to the beliefs of all our students. I’ve even had complaints about it, as I’m sure you remember.”
“Oh,” Troy said. “Yeah.”
It had been one of Troy’s students who had complained about the content of the world literature course. He’d said he couldn’t possibly read the assignments from the section of the book that dealt with Greek and Roman literature because they conflicted with his religious beliefs. Sally had told him to take British literature instead.
“I should have thought about that,” Troy said.
“That’s right. So don’t worry about any books that people might have in their offices. People are going to be offended by something. If there’s nothing to be offended by, they’ll make up something.”
“I’m offended by math books.”
Sally laughed and said that she was, too.
“I wonder if some offended student killed Harold,” Troy said.
“I don’t think so,” Sally said, “but you never know.”
Troy agreed and left the office. Sally tried to arrange things on her desk so that there wouldn’t be a paper-and-book cascade if she made any sudden moves. When things looked stable, she sat down and tried to think through all that had happened. Maybe somewhere along the way she’d missed the clue that would pull everything together.
She couldn’t think of any reason why the Jacksons would kill the Garden Gnome. They were on his side, supposedly. The fact that he was drunk could have figured into it, but Sally didn’t know how.
So if the Jacksons hadn’t killed him, and Fieldstone’s delegation from the college hadn’t, then who had?
Sally gave it up and started to wonder about other things. The e-mail about her, for one. Who would do a thing like that?
The answer came to her almost immediately. It had been there all along, and she felt foolish for not having thought of it at the beginning.
Well, she thought, it wasn’t the clue to the whole shebang, and it might not even be a clue at all, but she should never have overlooked something so obvious.
There was always a chance that she could be wrong, but she knew it would be easy enough to check. Wynona would know the answer to Sally’s question.
“Ellen Baldree?” Wynona said when Sally asked. “Sure. She was in your office a couple of times when you were in class. I thought she was ‘borrowing’ a book. You know, the way she ‘borrowed’ that stapler and that overhead projector.”
Sally figured Wynona was wrong. Ellen had been in the office to use Sally’s computer. She had the skills, and her resentm
ent against Sally had been building for a long time now with no relief. Sending out an e-mail that would cause Sally some trouble might be just the kind of thing Ellen would do.
“Should I have told you she was in there?” Wynona asked. “I didn’t think anything of it. Is she the reason we got that memo about locking our doors and creating a password for everything?”
“Maybe,” Sally said. “I’m about to find out.”
“How?”
“I’m going to ask her.”
“I don’t think so,” Wynona said. “She’s not here.”
“Not here? Where is she, then?”
“That’s a good question. A student from her nine o’clock class came by around nine-thirty and asked me the same thing. She didn’t show up for class.”
That wasn’t like Ellen at all, Sally thought. She might have resented Sally, but she was as dedicated to meeting her classes as Sally was. She’d never missed one before, at least not since Sally had been the department chair.
“You should have told me.”
“I was going to, but you were in class, and then you didn’t come back. I got busy. Anyway, I thought you knew. Faculty members are supposed to call their department chairs if they’re not going to be here.”
“She didn’t call me. Check her schedule and see when her next class is. You meet it if she’s not here, and tell the students that Ms. Baldree will be back on Friday.”
“How do you know that she will?”
“I don’t, but she’d better be here if she wants to keep her job. I’m going to call her right now.”
Sally went back to her office and checked the answering machine just to be sure there were no messages from Ellen. There weren’t, so Sally dug out the faculty directory and called Ellen’s home phone number. No answer. Sally left a message on the answering machine. Then she did some more thinking.
Jack Neville was so worried that he couldn’t even concentrate on his Spider Solitaire game. Of all the things he had on his mind, Vera worried him the most. She was treating him as if he were some kind of sniveling coward just because he’d called the police at Sally’s place. He’d tried to explain that he wasn’t going to beat up on a bunch of women just to impress her, but she’d paid him no mind.
