Grey Matters

by Clea Simon

  ‘OK, folks, I’m outta here.’ Jerry put his empty mug in the sink. ‘Something’s going on and I don’t want to be in the middle of it.’

  ‘It’s not—’ Dulcie started, just as Chris said, ‘Thanks, Jer.’ With a wave, the red-haired roommate took off.

  ‘Chris, you know what I’m talking about – and you know that I can’t exactly explain it to the police.’ More out of frustration than hunger, Dulcie poured herself a bowl of cereal.

  Chris looked at her. ‘I know that you’ve been under a lot of pressure, and that I haven’t been much help. And I’m sorry about that. Really, I am Dulcie.’

  Dulcie blinked. For a second, all her fears – the upcoming holiday, his absence, Suze’s strange distance – came rushing back.

  ‘But honestly, Dulce. What do you have? Besides a spectral nip on the ankle and a recurring dream, which really might just be about something else.’

  ‘Chris, I saw Cam – I saw the body.’ She paused to swallow the annoying lump in her throat. ‘I saw what had happened. He was cut with something sharp and small, just like that letter opener.’

  ‘Or like that steak knife,’ he nodded over to the counter. Neither roommate was great about getting all their dishes into the sink. But the mention of such a homey object used to do harm made Dulcie shiver. Chris was immediately by her side. ‘Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. I know it’s been a shock.’

  She relaxed into his arms, grateful for the solid warmth of him. Whatever anyone else thought, she knew Mr Grey was back in her life. But as much as she valued his feline wisdom, sometimes one needed a warm, living body to hold.

  ‘Nobody wants to think they’ve shared an office with a murderer.’

  Dulcie sat up straight, pulling back. ‘Nobody wants to think she has.’ When she was angry, the words just came out. ‘And Lloyd’s not a murderer. I don’t care what Professor Bullock says.’

  ‘Please, Dulcie.’ Chris didn’t try to hold her again, but his tone pleaded with her. ‘Let the police handle this. You’ve got enough on your plate.’

  She eyed her cereal bowl and sighed. On top of everything, she’d eaten too much.

  ‘Speaking of, what’s going on with your thesis? When you talked to Bullock, was he able to tell you anything about that essay?’

  ‘I haven’t even thought about it,’ said Dulcie. And with a slight shock, she realized that was true.

  FORTY-SIX

  Lloyd was still not answering, and now his voicemail was full. Raleigh wasn’t either, but at least Dulcie was able to leave her yet another message. Then, because what she’d said to Chris shocked her as much as anything else that morning, she headed into the Square to do some work.

  At first, the idea of going to her office was disconcerting. Lloyd was always quiet and truly the neater of the two. But something about his absence made the silence seem obtrusive, as if the dust bunnies were all ganging up on her. Dulcie intended to just drop by, pick up the latest ramblings from her seminar students, and head over to Widener to see what she could uncover about that essay – or its author. But once she had unlocked the tiny space, another thought hit her. Maybe the hint from Mr Grey covered more than Professor Bullock’s home. Dulcie was a scholar – a trained researcher. Maybe, she thought as she dumped her bag on to her desk and slumped into the chair behind it, she should be doing a little researching into her officemate’s life. Lloyd wasn’t a murderer, of that she was certain. But something strange was going on with her plump colleague. Something strange enough so that someone else wanted to frame him for murder.

  Looking over at Lloyd’s desk, which had already begun to fuzz with dust, Dulcie felt a little guilty. Especially with such a small space to share, they’d both been very careful to respect each other’s privacy. But if she could find something that would help Lloyd, that would be a good thing, right? Fighting down the niggling suspicion that it was her own curiosity talking, she pushed her own chair back and walked around her desk to his. She should at least clean up a bit, shouldn’t she? After all, they both had to work here. She pushed some of the papers around. ‘Structure in the Puritan Sermon.’ Poor Lloyd, he must have a section of English 10, too. Elizabethan Prose: 1560–1575. And Bullock still had him researching that book. Was it possible? No, she shuffled around a few more papers. Neither Bullock’s prized discovery nor the mysterious wrapped package were anywhere here. Nor, with a twinge of guilt, were they in any of the drawers, though Dulcie did find a cache of Altoids.

  She stole one and sat back, thinking. Everything here seemed innocent. Which made sense. There was no room for anything else in their shared space. Lloyd’s desk wasn’t that far from hers; that would have been impossible in their nutshell of an office. But after one too many rounds of giggles, they’d pulled the two institutional metal monsters apart, so they were no longer facing each other. Instead, while hers faced the side wall with its poster of an Edward Gorey cat, his now looked toward the front door and, to the left, an overstuffed bookshelf. The books she could see were largely Lloyd’s – Origins of the Essay, Sterne’s Short Fiction, and a collection of early-nineteenth-century prose – and Dulcie thought briefly of re-arranging her own view. Maybe if she constantly looked at her sources, she’d be a little more productive. Of course, with the doorway in her line of sight, she’d probably spend most of her time staring down the hallway, hoping for someone interesting to show up.

  A shock as sharp as if Mr Grey had swatted her with his claws made her catch her breath. She’d been assuming that Lloyd had been dragged into this for no reason. But even if he was innocent, he could have gotten accidentally involved. Had he seen something – someone – that had gotten him in trouble? The hallway was empty now, but she tried to remember who else used those offices. Trista had a desk two doors down, but she was rarely there. Sarah and another medievalist had the office at the end. Who had the last office, the one with the window? With a gasp, it all came back. Cameron Dessay had taken over that last office, and as far as she knew he had somehow claimed it all for himself. Had Lloyd seen something he shouldn’t? Without warning, Raleigh’s face flashed before her. If Cameron and Raleigh had been involved, Lloyd might have witnessed something. The pretty senior was certainly up to her neck in all this. Dulcie reached for her phone. She had to reach the girl and find out exactly what she knew.

  Reception in the basement office space was iffy at best, and when Dulcie surfaced she was surprised to see a message waiting. More surprised to hear Raleigh’s voice, breathless and clearly on the run.

  ‘Dulcie! Thanks for all your calls. I had to fly back to New York to speak to my dad.’ The next bit was obscured by traffic noise, but Dulcie was ready to smack the little metal device when Raleigh’s voice came back. ‘. . . will arrange bail as soon as the arraignment goes through tomorrow.’

  FORTY-SEVEN

  If only Monday mornings weren’t so crazy. First there was the English 10 lecture. Some of her friends skipped it, and as Trista often pointed out, ‘If I don’t know what that blowhard is going to say by this point, I truly am a sinner in the hands of an angry God.’ But Dulcie’s section followed hard on it. That meant her students – primarily confused freshman – had enough time to stew about whatever Cranshaw had said, but not enough time to settle in and really think about it. Which usually translated into a headache for Dulcie.

  Or, another headache, she mentally added, as she raced from the lecture hall to the Union common room where her students met. Normally, she’d walk like a normal person, letting the eager beavers catch up with her and air some of their confusion before the section started. Today, she just wanted to get it all over with, and had scooped up her notes and made a break for it. She hadn’t really had a good night’s sleep since finding Cameron’s body, one week before. Last night had not been an exception.

  Partly, it was the dream again. Locked, like Hermetria, in some windswept castle, she was seeking a key – a jeweled key – but everything she picked up proved to be the wrong size or not metal at all
. ‘False’ was the word that came to mind, and when she woke, she couldn’t help but think of her thesis topic, and The Ravages of Umbria. Yes, she had other matters to distract her – she never had made it over to the library the day before – but in her heart Dulcie knew that she was avoiding the bigger question for fear of what the answer would be.

  Partly, it was the kitten. The little creature had been catapulting around her room on such a rampage that she’d finally locked her out. But then the kitten had scratched and pleaded at the door with such heartrending cries that even a mad monk would have felt something. Dulcie had, for sure, and when she let the kitten in, she thought all would be settled. The tiny beast had settled her body on the bed, her smooth black back warm against Dulcie’s arm. But the little cat snored; there was no other word for it. And her dreams seemed to echo Dulcie’s as she kicked and twitched throughout the night.

  Now the grey sky and bracing air seemed like a rebuke for all those quiet hours wasted. But Dulcie took another slug from her rapidly cooling travel mug and continued to race walk toward the Union. ‘Please don’t let them be too stupid today,’ she whispered her prayer to the glowering clouds. ‘Please let them have gotten over midterms and not be overly worried about their final papers, just for today.’

  ‘Dulcie.’ The voice caught her up short and she stopped so quickly that a couple almost ran into her. ‘Hello!’ the girl snapped snarkily, but Dulcie was too preoccupied to care.

  ‘Mr Grey?’ She looked around, but all she saw were busy students, many looking as sleep-deprived as she felt. The bells in Memorial Church chimed eleven. ‘Oh, hell.’

  She picked up her pace, but her mind raced. What was Mr Grey telling her? What should she have been doing or looking for? If only she didn’t have these stupid undergrads.

  This time, it didn’t take a spectral voice to stop her. Although she could easily imagine the glaring eyes, the lashing tail, she knew that she deserved the reproach. Hadn’t she, Dulcie Schwartz, been just such a student once? New to the city – new to higher learning – nervous and eager, demanding attention just like a kitten? Hadn’t she pestered her section leaders, anxious to sop up every bit of learning? Wasn’t she still like that, at least a little?

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Grey,’ she breathed into the cool air. ‘You’re right.’ Suddenly, the clouds parted and a shaft of light shone down, illuminating the path before her. Dulcie laughed; not even Suze would believe this was coincidence. But just then a panting freshman caught up with her, and her moment of reflection was gone.

  Ninety minutes later, Dulcie was ready for either lunch or a nap. Her section hadn’t been frantic; maybe some of her own renewed good spirits had rubbed off on them. But they had been exhausting, wanting her to go over Cranshaw’s theory of the Europeanized American and how it related to Mark Twain. Every few minutes, Dulcie caught herself about to say something sharp – she was still sleep deprived. But like a trick of the light, she’d catch a flicking tail in a far corner, and then she’d modulate her tone and go once more over the literary conventions that the professor so adored.

  What with the lecture, her section, and the four students who had hung around after, wanting some kind of reassurance about their final paper, Dulcie hadn’t even had a chance to call Raleigh. When would Lloyd get out? Was there anything she, broke as she was, could do to help? As she made her way down to the basement office, she thought about what her gentle officemate must have gone through. A weekend in jail. Had he gotten to go on his big date?

  The door was open as she walked down the hall, the light spilling into the hallway. The sight caught her up short. She’d run across too many surprises recently. But a peal of laughter dispersed the worst of her fears and lured her further. Lloyd didn’t laugh like that.

  But the officemate who looked up as she came in the door was certainly smiling more broadly than she’d ever seen. Yes, he looked tired, his light eyes deeply shadowed in his pale face, but still he was beaming as he pushed back his desk chair and settled his feet on an opened drawer. And his smile was aimed at Raleigh, who had settled into Dulcie’s chair.

  ‘Oh! I’m sorry!’ As soon as Lloyd looked up at Dulcie, Raleigh had swung around – and then jumped to her feet. ‘We were just so thrilled.’

  ‘Uh-huh?’ Dulcie didn’t know what to make of this, but she did know it was good. ‘Wow, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen today, but when I got Raleigh’s message—’

  ‘It was my dad.’ Raleigh now stood, shifting from one foot to another, as Dulcie dropped her bag on the desk and reclaimed her chair. ‘He’s a partner in a big-deal firm, so really all I had to do was call him, and he handled everything.’

  ‘And believe me, I am grateful.’ Lloyd took his feet down and sat up, his moment of celebration over. ‘I’ll call him later today.’

  ‘He just sent an associate.’ Raleigh seemed embarrassed, and Dulcie studied her face.

  ‘He saved my butt.’ Lloyd picked up a pen. ‘But, you know, I should get to work now.’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’ Raleigh made for the door.

  Dulcie called out. ‘Wait, Raleigh?’ The girl turned, her uncertainty splashed all over her face. ‘I’m sorry. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve finally caught up with your thesis notes. You’ve done some great work here.’ Raleigh flashed a smile that reminded Dulcie of the laugh she’d heard only moments before. ‘And thanks.’

  For the next few minutes after the senior had left, Lloyd appeared to busy himself with papers, scribbling notes and shuffling through the layers that Dulcie had examined only the day before.

  ‘Lloyd?’ Dulcie finally interrupted him. ‘May I interrupt?’

  He looked up, the fatigue more apparent now. ‘Uh, yeah, sure, Dulcie. But I’m really kind of behind.’

  ‘What happened, Lloyd?’ There was so much she wanted to know, but this seemed the simplest way to start.

  He didn’t seem to think so, and sighed heavily as he put down his pen. ‘You mean on Saturday?’ Dulcie nodded. He wasn’t getting off that easy. He took a deep breath and Dulcie watched as he let it out, wondering how much he was preparing to tell. Finally, he started talking. ‘The police came over to my place around five. I let them in without thinking about it. I figured they had some questions about the professor. There, well, there have been some things going on.’

  Dulcie nodded again. She’d get the details later.

  ‘They asked me to come down to the station, and I thought they might want me to look at some things. But it very quickly became apparent that they didn’t want me as a witness. They wanted me out of the way so they could search my apartment. As the two detectives were escorting me to their car, another team was on its way in.’ He looked pained at the memory and Dulcie felt for him. Lloyd was so private, so meticulous.

  ‘Were they looking for objects . . .?’ She wasn’t sure how to phrase it. ‘Things that you shouldn’t have had?’ She tried to keep her voice gentle.

  ‘What? No.’ Lloyd’s face wrinkled up and for a moment she was afraid he would cry. ‘They were looking for a murder weapon.’

  There had been silence for a few moments after that, while Lloyd remembered – and Dulcie tried to piece together all she had heard.

  ‘I didn’t know,’ she started, and then tried again. ‘Polly had said something about things going missing.’ She stopped and thought of the wrapped package, so clearly a book. ‘There was that book, the one Professor Bullock was so keen on and then reported missing . . .’

  She left the sentence unfinished and looked at him. But Lloyd only shook his head. ‘There was no book, Dulcie.’

  ‘No book?’ His face was set and he only shook his head slowly. ‘But, Lloyd, Raleigh had left something for you while you were out. I thought . . .’

  He continued shaking his head. ‘That wasn’t anything.’ He sounded sad. ‘Certainly not a rare book.’

  ‘Oh.’ Dulcie wasn’t sure what to make of that, but kept talking. ‘When we heard you were arrested,
well, I was hoping it was that. That maybe the professor had accused you of . . . well . . .’ No book? ‘Something.’

  ‘Better a thief than a murderer, right?’ Lloyd’s voice had some life back in it. Either the time spent in their office or the talking seemed to be bringing him back. ‘No, when Bullock makes his case, he goes all the way.’

  ‘Professor Bullock? He was the one who had you arrested.’

  Lloyd nodded grimly. ‘So much for the years of loyal service, huh?’

  Dulcie shook her head, not understanding. ‘But why? He can’t really think you did it.’

  Lloyd tilted his head and smiled. It was not a happy smile. ‘Good old Bill Bullock has some issues with me, and he’s not one to cross, Dulcie. I’ve found that out the hard way.’

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Dulcie wasn’t going to let such a tantalizing statement go without questioning it. But just then Lindsay, from her junior tutorial, showed up at the open door and, without knocking, slumped down in the one visitor chair the two officemates shared.

  ‘So, I was thinking about what you were saying the other day in class.’ Without so much as a greeting, the lanky junior seemed to be off and running. ‘And I was wondering, you know, what you meant by a fake or falsified or somehow ‘untrue’ book. I mean, there are so many options here, and, really, the way you posed the question contained just too many ambivalent features. I mean, when you say “book,” what do you mean? Were you talking about the book as an object or the text, which, after all, is really what the book is about?’ She stopped here to make quote marks with her finger. ‘I mean, what is the book as we know it in an epistemological sense?’

  To her right, Dulcie could hear Lloyd snort. At least he was amused.

  ‘I mean the text, Lindsay.’ She glanced over at Lloyd, in part to resist deconstructing her student’s use of air quotes and in part to keep her from seeing that she was rolling her eyes. He met her gaze, but turned away quickly to start shoving books into his bag.