Killer, Paper, Cut (The Kiki Lowenstein Mysteries)

by Campbell Slan, Joanna

  My sweetie didn't answer, so I left him a message to call me back. When I got to the junction of Highway 40 and Lindbergh, the steering wheel turned east as usual. But I passed my usual exit. Instead, I got off at the Big Bend and headed north toward Prairie Central Community College.

  If I remembered correctly the notes Catherine had scribbled on Laurel's old homework, Brian Overmeyer would be teaching this morning. If I hustled, I could be there when his class let out. Even if I got the room number wrong, I could find him by asking the students where his class was held. Because I had Gracie in the car, I knew there'd be no shortage of eager people willing to help me. A dog can be a wonderful ice breaker!

  Finding a space in the parking lots proved daunting. I didn't have a student sticker. The visitors' spaces were severely limited in number. I wished I had a handicapped tag, because most of those spaces were empty.

  Isn't a big belly a handicap? I grumbled to myself.

  Gracie eagerly tumbled out from the passenger side. Since I had no idea where we were going, I headed for the biggest cluster of buildings. She trotted alongside of me, wagging her tail as we went.

  Of course, she caused quite a stir. Students begged to pat her. Others called out, "Cool dog!" It took four tries, asking about Brian Overmeyer, until a student was able to tell me where the man's class was held. By then I was worried that I would miss the teacher entirely. When I went to college, most of our professors vamoosed out of the classroom the minute the lecture was over. If you wanted to meet with a teacher, you had to make an appointment during office hours.

  But I reminded myself, as I huffed and puffed along, that this was a community college. From what I'd heard, the teachers were here because they loved teaching or loved their subjects. Instead of being burdened with research, they often worked in their chosen fields. There was a different atmosphere on this campus. One that I picked up on right away. More of the students were adults. Most were dressed in business attire, as if they'd come from work to school without a break in-between. Most seemed more serious than what I remembered from my days as an undergraduate.

  It did occur to me that each college or university was probably different. Each probably had its own style, personality, and temperament. Jennifer told me that when they were looking at colleges with Stevie, she knew immediately which schools would be a good fit for her son. "It's like going on a blind date. You get this sense of whether there’s a good fit or not immediately."

  Finally, I found myself outside the double doors that supposedly led to Brian Overmeyer's classroom. With any luck, his room would be close to the outside doors, so I wouldn't have to parade Gracie through the hallway.

  I stepped in, glanced at the room numbers, and knew that this was not my lucky day. If I calculated correctly, the door I wanted was in the middle of the building. Tugging at the leash, I urged Gracie to step lively. She did and immediately her four paws slid out from under her.

  "Come on, girl," I said. Making a hoop with my arms, I pulled her to her feet.

  Whomp! Down she went again.

  So close and yet so far. I couldn't tie her to a bush and leave her outside. I didn't dare. She was too dear to me to risk it. I lifted her again with the same result as before.

  There was no help for it. I got behind Gracie and pushed her locomotive style down the hallway. Fortunately, the doors all had little bitty windows up high, so no one gawked as we choo-chooed our way along. Blessedly, Gracie is a good sport. She put up with my maneuvers.

  I was within two feet of my goal when the door I wanted flew open. A young man with thinning hair and Hush Puppies on his feet came racing out. His eyes were on his watch, so he didn't even give me a second glance.

  "Mr. Overmeyer?" I called to him.

  "Huh?" he paused, turned on his heel, and studied me. Then he noticed Gracie. "What in the world?"

  "Um, I'm a friend of Laurel Wilkins," I said, straightening up from behind Gracie. "I was wondering if we could talk."

  "How is she? I heard she was hurt. There was an email in my box." A few wisps of hair waved from the top of his pink scalp.

  "She's home now, but still recovering. Uh, could we go somewhere and talk?"

  "I have office hours in twenty minutes. Across campus. Perhaps we could talk and walk?" As he spoke, he checked his watch one more time.

  "Sure thing," I said. "Just point us in the right direction."

  He took a couple steps and then looked down. "Is there something wrong with your dog?"

  "Nope," I grunted, as I pushed Gracie back the way we'd come.

  "Then why isn't she walking?"

  "Because the floor's too slick."

  "Excuse me if I sound rude, but are you pregnant?"

  "Yep." I paused long enough to suck wind.

  "Do you think I could help?"

  "With my pregnancy? I'm a little far gone for that."

  "Pushing the dog. Here. You take my briefcase and these books." He stepped next to me. "Um, she won't bite me, will she?"

  "I seriously doubt it."

  He pushed poor Gracie down the hallway of the Social Sciences Building.

  Chapter 67

  Like most of us, Brian Overmeyer had been totally charmed by Laurel. He waxed ecstatic about her looks, her smarts, and her great personality. After hearing him go on and on, I suspected that he wasn't aware that Laurel was spoken for, or that she had her eyes on Father Joe. And I wasn't about to spill the pinto beans. No sirree. As long as Brian—as he suggested that I call him—wanted to talk, I was willing to listen.

  "Can you think of anyone in the class who might have wanted to hurt Laurel?" I asked. "Or even anyone on campus who might have a grudge against her?"

  "Absolutely not!" he protested. After a pause, he added, "I imagine that some of our female students might have felt, um, competitive. With good reason. But Laurel is always so nice, so thoroughly approachable, that I can't conceive of anyone wanting to harm her."

  "Somebody did," I said. "I was there the night it happened."

  "Did you see any of our students?"

  That was a ridiculous assertion. How would I know if anyone I saw was a student at Prairie Central? Short of the person wearing a Prairie Central tee shirt, I wouldn't have been able to pick one out of the crowd. But rather than throw a damper on his freewheeling commentary, I said, "Not that I know of."

  "So why are you here? Did the police send you?"

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Clearly, this man was one of your absent-minded professors. "I'm here because I'm her friend. She's also my employee."

  "So she bellydances for you?" His face lit up.

  "No!" I nearly shouted, and Gracie turned to see what upset me. "I own a scrapbook store. Laurel works part-time for me."

  "Aha! Now I see. But aren't the police involved?"

  "Sort of. However, we're not entirely sure that the local police where the crime occurred are giving the situation the attention it deserves."

  "Ah," he said, thoughtfully.

  I wasn't totally sure how to decipher that two-letter word, so I continued with, "Needless to say, I'm very worried about Laurel's safety. That's why I'm curious as to how the other students reacted toward her. Like most of them, I was intimidated by her looks at first, but now that I've gotten to know her, I see that she's every bit as lovely on the inside as she is on the outside!"

  He nodded. "Yes, she is. I can't imagine anybody wanting to hurt her, much less to doing something so heinous."

  "Would there be anything in her files? Anything they share with you teachers that might point to a motive?"

  "Those would be highly confidential," he tut-tut-tutted.

  "I know. I'm not asking to look at them. I'm just hoping that if there was anything, and if it did stick in your mind, you might share it with me, in the hopes that I could pass it along to the proper authorities."

  "I understand, and the answer is that I know of nothing. You are aware that she attended another community college, as well as co
ntinuing her studies here at Prairie State?"

  "Yes, I'd heard that." I hesitated. I needed to word my next question carefully. "I also heard that someone had sent her inappropriate text messages. Do you know if that was a student or a faculty member?"

  "Are you accusing me?" he fairly screeched.

  "Nope. I'm asking you. If I thought you were the one who'd sent them, I would have accused you, but I didn't."

  "Again, you are trespassing on areas that I would never speak about, for fear of violating the responsibilities expected of me by this college."

  Terrific. As we said in the Midwest, he had a corncob up his backside. I switched gears. "I would never ask you to betray a confidence. It's entirely possible you might know of the emails through casual conversation. After all, Laurel's also taken classes at Washington University."

  "Right. Laurel is fascinated by the status of women, throughout history and in present times. She's curious about the social implications of a variety of factors, including but not limited to female beauty. As you are probably aware, different cultures have defined beauty differently at different times in their histories. When food is scarce a pleasingly plump woman is highly desirable."

  I slowed my pace. After pushing my dog around on the floor, I was sweaty and cranky. Was he telling me something? Like maybe that I would have been desirable but I wasn't? I felt like saying, "See how desirable you feel when you're seven months pregnant," but instead I shook it off.

  "Okay, well, I need to get back to my store. If you happen to think of someone who might have been involved in the attack on Laurel, I hope you'll let the authorities know. Better yet, call me. Here’s one of my business cards. I'm engaged to a homicide detective. He'll handle your information in confidence."

  Chapter 68

  "You missed Faye, so she said she'd come back by for her check tomorrow," said Clancy, as I walked onto the sales floor. "Why the grumpy face? Is Laurel worse?"

  "I hope not." I explained about my visit to Prairie Central Community College. "I'm on the fast track to nowhere."

  "That's one way to look at it. Another is to strike off the avenues you've pursued. Where's your list?"

  "I'm not sure." With that I started digging in my purse. "I could have sworn I stuck it back in here after Mert and I talked about it."

  "That's another reason to be happy. Now that the two of you are on speaking terms again," Clancy said. In her hand was an order form and the sign-up sheet for the Zentangle session. We'd both pulled up stools at my work table, sitting companionably side by side.

  "How's that going?" I gestured to the Zentangle session.

  "Those three women from the church? They've signed up. Said they wouldn't miss it for the world."

  "Goody-goody." I could not keep the sarcasm out of my voice. "Maybe when I talk about zen, one of them will volunteer that she's been meditating ever since she escaped from the looney bin. Then this case will crack wide open."

  I'd no more than gotten those words out of my mouth than the door minder rang. Clancy and I both turned to see who our guest was.

  "Joseph! Just look at you!" Clancy rushed to greet Father Joe. With her in trim black slacks and a black cashmere sweater and the priest in the same, they looked like twin penguins at a family reunion. Somehow that tickled me. When I told them why I was laughing, Father Joe chuckled, too.

  "Ah, penguins," he said. "Remember when they first added those Humbolt penguins to the St. Louis Zoo, and they enjoyed the slide in their new home so much that they would swoop down and fly right over the safety railing? The crew members coming into the Penguin and Puffin Coast each morning were greeted by the penguins marching around all over the building. They had to do a daily round up."

  "What I remember is that one of the penguins bit Newt Gingrich when he was campaigning for president," said Clancy with a giggle.

  "Do you two always have to carry on like this?" I asked, as they reluctantly stepped away from each other.

  "Of course, we do," said Clancy. "Even when he was my student, we were always cutting up and laughing. Joseph, Kiki told me that you're planning to propose to Laurel. That's just wonderful!"

  Although she seems terribly straight-laced, Clancy is really a total romantic who has memorized every line in Casablanca. And if you think that's obsessive, just get her started about The African Queen. She knows everything about the movie, including the fact that Director John Huston found a black mamba snake in the bathroom of their set in Africa.

  "I guess we strike Father Joe off our lists of suspects." I jammed my hand deep in my purse again, and this time I did fish out the paper Clancy and I had started when we first noodled around whodunit.

  "Was I a person of interest? Seriously?" He looked wounded.

  "Kiki has a sick sense of humor." Clancy smirked at me.

  "Better than no sense of humor." I retorted. "Look, I'm having a bad day. Let's change the subject. Have you seen Laurel? How’s she doing?"

  "Yes, I dropped by her apartment. Mert was there, guarding her young," said the priest, as he pulled up a stool and sat down. "She isn't quite sure of me, I can tell."

  I explained about Mert thinking the Pope would be involved, somehow.

  At that, he and Clancy and I all started giggling. "Just think of it," said Father Joe. "After all the efforts that King Henry VIII went to, word still hasn't gotten around that the Anglican Church no longer bows low to the man at the Vatican."

  "That's so odd because Mert's a highly educated woman! Really, she is!" I said.

  "All of us have great gaps in our education," said Clancy. "I know better than most. I was a teacher remember? I had a student who wrote on a test that The Scarlet Letter was a movie starring Demi Moore. She refused to believe there was a book by the same title."

  I smiled and said, "I'm sure that your church-goers will be warm and loving toward Laurel."

  Father Joe's face turned grim. "I wish that were true."

  Chapter 69

  Father Joe held up a hand as if to erase his last comment. I stood there trying to wrap my head around what he might be thinking. Rather than speak, both Clancy and I waited until the young man mastered his emotions.

  "Most of the members of St. James have been wonderful. True Christians in every sense of the word," he said. The words came out with difficulty.

  Clancy and I exchanged looks. Obviously, there was more to the story.

  "Would you like a bottle of water? A cold Coke? A Pepsi? Or a Sprite?" I asked. We'd recently revised our offerings to include the lemon-lime flavored drinks and Pepsi products.

  "How about a cup of coffee? Or tea?" asked Clancy.

  "A cup of hot tea would be much appreciated," he said. As he spoke, his shoulders hunched over with defeat. Facing the subject at hand had clearly taken a lot of his moxie.

  While Clancy ran to the back, I fiddled around with my Zentangle handout. Since we each took turns teaching a tangle, or pattern, I created a handout with a blank "step out" or empty boxes so that we could fill in the various steps that had to be taken to create the pattern. Before each class, these needed to be collated, so I did the work while Father Joe took his cup of tea from Clancy and doctored it with two heaping spoonsful of sugar. After he'd had a sip, he said, "Since I haven't formally proposed to Laurel, there hasn't been a specific announcement of our plans. However, she has been coming to church regularly, and you'd have to be blind not to notice that I reach for her hand as soon as I've completed the services, hung up my robes, and left the sacristy."

  I sipped from a bottle of water and waited.

  Clancy's eyes were narrow with concern.

  "A few weeks ago, a mimeographed letter was sent to all the members of the vestry. I won't bore you with the details, but the message suggested that I'd been hoodwinked. That during my outreach activities to those less fortunate, I'd been associating with people of low morals. The author of the letter didn't specifically name Laurel. The charges were vague. Most of the vestry members thought this
amusing. One, in fact, noted that Jesus consorted with persons of low status."

  He sighed. "In retrospect, ignoring it wasn’t a good idea. Someone had actually mimeographed the letters using an old machine that we'd locked away because our new photocopier works so much better. That should have been a tip off to me that this person was too close for comfort."

  "You mean the author had to be someone with keys to the office area of the church," surmised Clancy.

  "Exactly. After the letters came, I took the old mimeograph machine to Goodwill. I figured that would be the end of it. But of course, it wasn't that easy. The next letter included a color photo of Laurel in her belly dancing gear. It wasn't one of the pictures used by her talent agency. It wasn't one taken from her website. The quality was poor, and the angle suggested the photographer had been at the back of a crowd. Probably in a restaurant."

  "Then the photographer must have been at an event where Laurel was dancing," I said.

  "Right. This letter was much more personal. The author uncovered Laurel's birth certificate! A copy of it was in the packet. So were a variety of scandalous accusations, just salacious enough to paint her as the proverbial bad seed."

  "What did you do about that?" I asked. I couldn't imagine such a letter, so I wondered how the young priest would respond.

  "I called an immediate meeting of the vestry—and I’ll be the first to admit that I lost my cool. I started babbling like an idiot. I asked them who among them was without sin and wanted to cast a stone. I pointed out that Laurel's lack of a father was not her fault. That Mert's situation was a terrible commentary on our broken social welfare system. That belly dancing had ethnic origins. I must have ranted and raved for nearly fifteen minutes until the president of the vestry took me by the arm and led me out of the room."

  "Thank goodness," said Clancy, "I bet your reaction did more harm than good."

  He nodded. "That's what Franklin Eaton said. Nearly word for word. He took me outside and told me to take a walk around the block while he repaired the damage. When I got back, he was sitting there by himself, having dismissed the vestry. He told me very gently that I needed to get a grip."