It was time to go to work. She left the apartment, double-checking the lock. The day was gloomy; dark clouds lowered in the sky, and the chill of late autumn was in the air. The policeman was still there and followed her as she drove the pale blue Toyota into traffic. Still, try as she might, she could not forget about last night, and a queasy feeling settled into the pit of her stomach unbidden. Someone who had killed before wanted her dead. Was she driving to her ultimate fate—a destiny of death?
TWENTY
She played the radio on the drive to the university, tried to listen to an inane talk show, found she could not concentrate and turned to classical music instead. The car seemed to be finding its own way to campus. She parked on the deck just as she ordinarily would. Her police escort parked nearby and followed her into the library. He remained unobtrusive, but knowing that he was around made her feel more confident.
The first few hours of her shift were unremarkable, except that she was much more self-conscious. She was on with Rita tonight, which reminded her again about the inferno collection. After the dinner hour, she would try to get in to look at the collection one more time. In it somewhere could be a clue as to the murderer, or so she hoped. The police would need a search warrant to examine the cabinet. She, on the other hand, could take an informal, cursory look and see if there was anything of significance in the collection.
“You’re dressed fancy today,” Rita noted. In her mouth the words sounded more like an accusation than a compliment.
“I was invited to the English symposium this evening.”
“Free food?”
She nodded.
Rita sniffed at her. “Well, bring something back for me.”
“I’ll try.” She didn’t think the wine and cheese that was usually served at such events would carry out well, but it was best to stay on Rita’s good side since she would be asking to borrow her keys again.
When time came for her dinner break, another policeman had replaced the first one. She noticed how much emptier the streets were at this hour. But soon enough the evening students would be here replacing the day students, and the streets and parking lots would no longer appear deserted, but would bustle for University College. It would be just as crowded as in the daytime with the adults cruising around, trying to find parking anywhere they could.
It was totally dark now, no stars to be seen; even the moon was obstructed by thick clouds. Kim recalled when she was little and would imagine seeing a woman’s face in the moon. It was a benign face like that of her ma, always smiling at her. God, how she wished she could see that face tonight! She had this awful, intuitive feeling that all was not quite right despite her police escort.
Once inside the graduate student center, she felt more at ease. The building was one of the newer structures on campus, bright, cheerful and modern. She realized she knew very few of the students and only several of the professors. Wine and soft drinks were being served. She helped herself to a cola. Around her, students and professors stood chatting in small groups in the large main room, which was set up with many rows of chairs facing a stage. Some chairs were of the comfortable variety that usually lounged about the room, but most were folding chairs that had been brought in for the evening’s program. There were also tables set up at either side of the room with a variety of different foods.
“Well, you look hungry to me.”
She turned and found Don smiling at her. “I didn’t see you.”
“’Course not, you were looking hungrily at those tables groaning with goodies. Let’s go sample some.”
“I didn’t think I was that obvious,” she said, trying not to smile.
“Only to me. I was watching you closely. Besides, why else would any sane person come to one of these?”
“To be with you, of course.” This time, she did smile, and he smiled back.
“I’m touched and flattered. Let’s pig out!”
And that was what they did. She wondered if this was her last supper, the condemned woman eating a hearty final meal. Well, she had to shake such grim notions. She was hardly a prisoner on death row.
“I personally made the quiche, so you’ll have to try it and pretend you like it even if you hate spinach.”
“So you cook too. That’s very interesting.”
“I believe I did mention it to you, but perhaps you thought I was jesting? Haven’t put you off? Real men don’t eat quiche, let alone bake it, do they?”
“That depends,” she responded diplomatically. She took a generous helping of his quiche along with salad. There were large apples and she placed one in her handbag.
“For later?” he asked.
“For Rita Mosler whom I work with, or she’ll never forgive me.”
“Just tell her to come over here. No one will mind. There’s going to be plenty left, even after these starving grad students wolf down all they can hold.”
“It is a lovely buffet table,” she said.
“But, alas, it would be nothing without my quiche.”
Don seemed to know everyone and exchanged greetings with quite a few people, making certain to introduce her. She noticed Jim Davis and Dr. Packingham exchanging words. Jim’s face was flushed, and although he towered over the smaller, thinner man, it was obvious that he was much more upset than the professor.
“I don’t like your attitude,” Jim was saying. “Maybe you don’t think much of the paper I’m presenting at this colloquium, but other people have faith in my abilities.” He brought his index finger up and poked it directly at Packingham’s concave chest. “Don’t cause me any grief tonight, or you’ll be the one who’s sorry.”
She’d never heard Jim sound so menacing and his tone surprised her.
“Come now, Davis, your jealous-boyfriend role will take you just so far.”
“You hit on women like Lorette, try to force your attentions on them. That makes you lower than gully dirt in my book.”
“Bloody absurd! Ms. Campbell was more than willing to spend time in my company and told me as much privately. The only reason she appeared to demur was because of her fear of you, Mr. Davis. You intimidated her, bullied her. She was afraid of physical violence from you.” Packingham sneered through thin lips. “She considered you a barbarian. No one knows who killed her, do they? I have my own theory on that subject.”
“You’re lying about Lorette, and you had more reason to kill her than anyone because she rejected you.” Jim raised his fist in a threatening manner.
Don moved adroitly between the two men with Kim following closely behind him. Ian Simpson-Watkins arrived on the scene simultaneously. He glared at Jim and then turned to Packingham.
“Professor, I’ve been neglecting you. As a visitor to our country, it would be my pleasure to take you under my wing, so to speak, and introduce you to those of our faculty and students you may not be familiar with yet.” He guided the Englishman away from Jim.
“I guess I kind of lost it there for a minute. The man makes me so damn mad!”
“Better off staying away from him,” Don said.
“You’re right,” Jim agreed, stuffing his fists into his jean pockets. “Sometimes my temper just gets out of control.”
“Why don’t you get something to eat and join us?” Kim said.
He shook his head. “Not right now. I’m still too angry. I’d probably just choke on the chow.” He walked briskly away.
They watched him stalk out the door of the lounge. From across the room, Packingham’s small eyes narrowed into slits as he watched keenly. A malevolent smile crossed his lips.
“A volatile young man,” Don said.
“More so than I realized,” she agreed.
She noticed Dr. Barnes walking over to Packingham. The two engaged in polite conversation, but it quickly became apparent to her that whatever they were discussing was a matter of serious concern. She could tell by the frown on Dr. Barnes’ face and the grave expression of Dr. Packingham. Once or twice they looked in her directio
n, then quickly away. Were they talking about her? Plotting against her? My God, when had she become so paranoid?
While Don was talking with several of his students, she strolled over to the hot beverage table and poured herself a cup of coffee. As she turned to go, Kim literally bumped into Dr. Barnes. He looked less than pleased since she managed to splash coffee on his well-polished black shoes.
“It would be you, wouldn’t it?” he said testily. He summoned himself up to his full stature, chest out, preening like a peacock. “See here, you’ve been making a general nuisance of yourself of late. My colleagues and I would rather you amuse yourself at someone else’s expense, otherwise we’ll be forced to take unpleasant action against you.”
“Such as trying to kill me?” Her own anger was just barely under control.
His eyes blinked rapidly. “How dare you make such an accusation? Get out of my way!” The dark brows knitted in outrage, and the large eyes were bulging in bullfrog fashion.
She could touch his fear; it was that palpable. He would not want it known that he pursued students. If Lorette had threatened to expose him publicly, there was no doubt in Kim’s mind that he was capable of murder.
Dr. Barbara Neilson sauntered up to the podium situated on the raised stage to continue with the agenda. She picked up a felt-covered microphone and called the group to order. Kim remembered vaguely that Dr. Neilson was a well-published feminist, greatly admired by the younger women in the program because of her militancy.
“I will be introducing our first speaker of the evening since she is one of my students. Before I do, I would like to say that we are in for a rare treat this evening. Three exceptional graduate students have been chosen to read their papers to us. These three presentations were selected from a great many entries, and each represents outstanding scholarship and originality.” Dr. Neilson’s smile looked somewhat out of place on her stern countenance. She was austerely thin, her spine straight as a broom handle. She was dressed in a dark, man-tailored suit. Her short gray hair added to the no-nonsense, stern aura of her person. Her eyes held no spark. She seemed dried out, lifeless.
Kim suddenly had a dark premonition. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up looking like that in twenty years. The thought sobered her. She did not want to bury herself in a library to the exclusion of all else.
“Without further ado, I would like to explain the selection process and then present each of our student participants.”
The program promised to be long. She wouldn’t be able to stay for all of it, and perhaps that was just as well. Don moved in beside her, smiling warmly. They sat together and listened to Dr. Neilson as she continued to speak in a dry, unemotional voice. “Quite a few of you are aware that we’ve lost several of our best students of late, and also that Dr. Lionel Forbes has tragically passed away. Their loss diminishes each of us. Let us offer a moment of silence in memory of their departed souls.” Dr. Neilson lowered her head gravely. The silent room took on a funereal aspect.
The minute ended and the program continued. Kim noticed that Jim Davis had returned just as the first student took the podium. The first presenter was a pale young woman. Her paper was an exploration of whether or not the Master letters of Emily Dickinson proved that she was really a closet lesbian involved in an incestuous relationship with her sister. It was hard not to notice how delighted Dr. Neilson was with her student’s premise. Her face fairly beamed with a sudden animation that Kim would not have thought possible. The student was a poised doctoral candidate, who read her paper with just the right amount of emphasis to hold the interest of the audience.
The second paper was not as well presented. It was read in a boring monotone by a young man whose speech pattern imitated the annoying affectation of many of the English professors. The pretentious piece was a new interpretation of Othello, and the young man took every opportunity to read long sections of the play in his deadly monotone. An elderly professor sitting across the aisle from her was sound asleep and snoring noticeably, head titled back in his chair, by the time the fellow finally finished reading.
The third presenter was Jim Davis. At first, he seemed ill at ease as he lumbered up to the stage. But as soon as he launched into his paper on Mark Twain’s importance in the local color movement, Jim became animated and lost his stage fright. He read expressively, his ideas offered in a clear and lucid manner.
Kim glanced over at Professor Packingham and saw that his eyes were burning holes into Jim. When Jim finished reading, Packingham was the first to attack, under the guise of offering constructive literary criticism. Jim was forced to stand there and take it politely. The good thing was that American Literature was not Packingham’s area of expertise and there wasn’t all that much he could criticize.
Kim glanced at her watch and realized it was getting late. She whispered to Don that she had to go back, and he promised to phone her the following day.
As she walked quickly outside, someone hurried through the doors and came around blocking her path.
“What do you want?”
“A word with you,” Packingham said in a cool, controlled voice.
“About what?”
“You think I’m some sort of villain.”
“Aren’t you?” Their gazes locked. “What you did to Jim in there was rather cruel.”
“He’s a violent individual and doesn’t belong among civilized human beings. Lorette was afraid of him. She told me she couldn’t trust him.”
“Did she give a reason?”
“I didn’t care to ask.”
“Excuse me, I have to leave.” She walked brusquely by him, relieved to see that her police escort was out there, sitting and waiting in his car. Fresh air felt good on her face after being in that stuffy room for more than an hour.
Rita was waiting impatiently for her when she returned to the reference desk. “About time!”
“Sorry, I got caught up in the colloquium. It’s still going on at the Graduate Student Center. There’s plenty of food. Don Bernard said you should drop over.”
That seemed to placate her. “All right, but I might be a little more than an hour, just the way you were.”
“I understand completely. There is just one thing.” She hesitated but then asked. “Could I borrow your keys for a moment?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! You forgot yours again?” Rita did not bother to mask her annoyance.
“It’s the last time I’ll ask you, I promise.”
Rita tossed her the keys with a glower. “It better be! You have to be more responsible if you’re going to keep your position here.”
The graduate assistant working with them tonight was busy helping another student. Kim waited to make certain the student could handle the reference question, then she hurried back to the offices. As before, Wendell’s office was dark and locked. She turned the key quickly so that she would not change her mind. She could easily be fired for what she was doing. Nevertheless, she was determined to go through with her search. Unfortunately, now was not a good time for her to examine the inferno collection. It would have to wait until the library emptied out a little. She hurried back to the desk and began helping patrons.
* * * *
A little after nine o’clock, Jim Davis approached her at the desk.
“Can I help you?” she asked him in a professional manner.
Jim looked over at Rita’s countenance and understood that personal conversations would not be a good idea. “Yes, could you show me how to use the MLA Bibliography?”
They walked toward the computers, but Jim stopped her where no one was near enough to overhear them. “I need to talk to you for a minute.”
“Sure, what is it?”
“How did you think my presentation went? The buzzards really picked me clean.”
“You did a wonderful job.”
He gave her a wide, boyish grin. “Really think so?”
“Absolutely. Just ask Don Bernard. He’ll give you a fair-minded evaluation.”
“Not like that bastard Packingham, I hope.” He pushed up the sleeves on the suit jacket he wore over his denim jeans. “I figure to get anywhere in life, you got to take chances, but I didn’t figure on being used for target practice.”
“Criticism is their game.”
“Lorette was supposed to present a paper tonight,” he said suddenly, his eyes darkening. “I wish she were here.”
“I never understood why Lorette broke up with you.”
He seemed to lose his composure. “We didn’t exactly break up. She was angry about something. Guess I made an error in judgment. Then she said she couldn’t trust me anymore. She shouldn’t have been so upset.”
“Upset about what?”
He ran his hands through his sandy hair. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
She tried to keep her exasperation out of her voice. “But you have to talk about it. Don’t you see, it could be important.”
“Look, it had to do with Dr. Forbes. I don’t want you thinking less of me.”
“What I think doesn’t matter all that much. You weren’t truthful with me, were you? Dr. Forbes did invite you to his house. Was it you who suggested including Lorette?”
“No, that was his idea. But I guess I did encourage her to go. He was real interesting, unusual. I thought it was just the kind of experience she’d enjoy, you know, ’cause she had this thing for the supernatural.”
“And did you have a thing for the supernatural?”
“Look, I wasn’t one of them. Forbes, he just had this way about him, you know? But it’s not my kind of lifestyle.”
“You knew about Lorette’s past, didn’t you? Did you tell Forbes?”
The Inferno Collection Page 20
