Costas did a double take. “Nicholas?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Nicholas?” he asked again, this time letting out a belly laugh. “Are you kidding me?” He leaned in close to me and I got a whiff of pungent aftershave. “Nicholas is so busy paying alimony and paying off Brandon’s college expenses that he doesn’t have a pot to piss in.”
“He didn’t give you any money toward the company?” It wasn’t the first time one of my theories was out of left field and proven wrong but I had been pretty dead certain that this one was right.
“At first, but that’s gone,” he said, leaning against my dresser and folding his arms across his chest. I took this as a sign that he was letting down his guard and peppered him with more questions.
“So you decided to start a ‘side business,’ ” I said, “to make a little extra cash? I bet that’s lucrative. That oughta keep you afloat for a while, huh?”
His guard wasn’t completely down; he didn’t answer the question.
“So, Wayne. You planted the drugs in his room. Why?”
He didn’t mind telling me the answer to that one. “I wanted him away from Amanda. And he was going to expose the whole plan.” He smiled at a recollection. “Moron was trying to blackmail me.”
So there it was. He did want Wayne away from Amanda, but more than that, he wanted Wayne to go away for good, not exposing the illegal doings at T&G.
“What was to stop Wayne from exposing you once the police picked him up? What made you so confident that he was going to run?”
He laughed. “Because I had a little dirt on him, too.”
Right, I thought. That made sense.
“And he’s a loser. I made a bet that he would try to disappear and I was right.” He laced his fingers together. “That’s why I stopped by. I wanted to make sure he was gone.”
He had tried to disappear all right. But the first rule of trying to disappear is to leave the premises completely. Going to the convent was a bad move all around.
“And if he stayed, and tried to implicate me, there was nothing that would reveal me. I’m a respected businessman in Newark. Nobody would have believed a cockamamie story coming from a two-bit pot dealer.” His smile got wider when he thought of his plan and how flawlessly it had been executed. The only snafu was when I moved in and starting nosing around.
I wanted to know something else. “Why are you so hell-bent on Amanda marrying Brandon?”
“He’s Greek, he’s smart, and I know his family. He loves my stepdaughter . . . no, he adores her. What could be better?” he asked. “I met my wife two times before I got married,” he said, putting up two fingers. “We were married twenty-five years before she died. She was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said, his eyes misty at the remembrance of the first Mrs. Grigoriadis. “With the exception of Victoria,” he said, quickly amending his original contention. “And, of course, my stepdaughter.” He straightened up suddenly. “Okay, trip down memory lane is over. Let’s go.”
“Let’s go?” I asked, a knot growing in my stomach. “Where?”
He looked at me sadly. “You don’t need to know that.”
I don’t know why I had thought this man—an obviously loving husband and father—would tell me all of this and then just leave. Of course he had planned on killing me all along. A tear ran down my face. “Just go and none of this will ever leave this room. I won’t tell a soul.”
“You already have,” he reminded me. “Don’t you have a boyfriend who’s a cop?”
I nodded. That revelation usually gets me in trouble in situations like this.
Costas continued with his train of thought. “He’ll figure it out. But if you’re gone, he’ll be focused on other things. This whole thing,” he said, throwing his arms wide, “will go away. The kid’s not going to say anything, right?”
I thought about Michael Columbo and his terrified face when we figured out exactly what he was doing to put himself through school, and I realized that he would be just as happy quitting his job and never speaking of his employment at T&G ever again. “They’ll know it’s you.”
Costas shook his head. “No. They won’t.” He reached into a small bag on my dresser—one that I hadn’t noticed previously—and pulled out a syringe filled with some kind of liquid.
I didn’t know what it could be, but I let my mind wander into some very depressing territory. “What’s that?” I asked.
He turned. “Heroin. Grade A stuff. You’ll have a nice trip and then”—he snapped his fingers—“nothing.”
All of a sudden, “Cracklin’ Rosie” sounded very sinister to me; I wouldn’t ever listen to it the same way again. “Hey,” I said, trying to throw him off while I concocted a way out of the situation, “has anyone ever told you that you look like Neil Diamond?”
Costas let a small smile play on his lips. “You’re a very strange woman.” He held the syringe up and tapped it with his finger.
“And do you know what a ‘store-bought woman’ is?” I asked, a sob escaping from my throat as he grabbed me and pulled me up. Outside my door, I heard the familiar sound of nails tapping on marble, and I managed to let out a scream before he lunged toward me and put a meaty hand over my mouth. Trixie set up a howl on the other side of the door and I heard Bart Johannsen’s voice.
“Professor Bergeron?” he called. “Are you okay?”
I looked at Costas, my eyes wide. His grip tightened. He looked from me to the door several times.
Bart began banging on the door. “Professor Bergeron?”
I started to squirm and thrash, succeeding in knocking the syringe from Costas’s hand, and giving him a big, hard kick in the shins. When his hand slipped a little I let out another garbled scream.
Bart stopped knocking and I prayed that he was smart enough to do what I thought he would do, rather than run for help. As I heard his body make contact with the old door for the first time, I said a silent prayer of thanks that good, old, lazy, sleeping Bart had a better head on his shoulders than I would have thought. I imagined his giant Scandinavian body—broad shoulders and tree-trunk legs—being hurled against the door and hoped that the door would cave in before Costas broke my neck or choked me to death.
Costas let me go and scrambled after the syringe. I jumped on his back and began to hit him around the head; he used the hand not holding the syringe to swat at me. He stood and shook me off, and I fell against the dresser, which hit me in the small of the back. I started for the door, but he blocked my path, knocking me sideways onto the bed. He stood and pulled his arm back, ready to stab me anywhere he could. On my back, I had one last chance, and I used it; I pulled my legs back and, with all my might, kicked him in the crown jewels.
Bart crashed through the door at exactly the same moment as Costas crumbled to the floor, grabbing his crotch and writhing in pain. Trixie was right behind him and she circled Costas, knowing instinctively that he wasn’t a nice man. She took a chunk out of his calf for good measure and the sound that Costas let out was something I hoped I would never hear again. Bart took in the scene and looked at me.
“I can’t find my master key,” he said, as if he had come into the room in the conventional way.
I was out of breath and I gasped for air. “It’s okay,” I said, bending over and putting my hands on my knees. I looked up at him. “Thanks.”
“Is that Amanda’s dad?” he asked, pointing at Costas.
“Doesn’t matter,” I gasped, reaching for the phone. I dialed 9 for an outside line and called 911. “You watch him, and if he makes a move to get up, bust his head open.”
I knew that lacrosse stick would come in handy eventually.
Thirty-Five
I had to sit on my suitcase to close it, pulling the zipper around the side while jumping up and down to see if I could squash the contents down any more than I had originally. Trixie was staring at me. I guess I did look kind of odd: I was dressed in my graduation outfit of black robe and g
oofy velvet doctoral tam.
“I know. It’s ridiculous looking,” I said, finally getting the zipper all the way around. I hadn’t realized how much I had brought over to the dorm in the last several weeks, but I certainly had more to bring home than I had come with when I moved in.
I dragged the suitcase off the bed and took a look around the room. “Say good-bye to hell, Trix.”
She responded by giving me a halfhearted woof.
“I know. You’re going to miss the cemetery and the river.” I bent down and kissed the top of her head. “I promise. We’ll come back and visit.”
Things had settled down considerably since the “Costas affair,” as I had taken to calling it and everyone who had had some involvement seemed to be getting on with their lives.
Costas had sung like a bird once he was in police custody, and had given up the other thug who had beaten up Amanda and who was still on the loose as well as everyone who had ever used T&G for anything other than car service. Turned out Costas wasn’t quite as slick as he thought he was; he owed someone very high up in a drug cartel a lot of money for the heroin brick he had planted in Wayne’s room and those people don’t play around. Unbeknownst to me, they had set his wife’s car on fire when she was shopping at Target in addition to beating the hell out of Amanda. It didn’t do him too much good to give the guy up, but maybe it made him feel better. I didn’t know. And I certainly didn’t care.
He was going to jail for a long time, that was for sure.
I knew that the business was still going, though now that its main source of income had been cut off, and the papers had written about the story in detail, it was hanging on by a thread. Brandon and Amanda’s chance for having a financially secure future were certainly impacted by Costas’s decision to turn to the dark side in order to save his business, one that he had started with a thousand bucks and a dream after emigrating from Greece back in the seventies.
As for the rest of the players: Michael Columbo eventually lost the thousand-mile stare that he adopted after being subjected to a police interrogation and living with the knowledge that he had been an unwitting player in a drug operation. He had one more year to go at St. Thomas and I was helping him figure out how he was going to stay, looking at financial aid packages and loans that would give him a financial hand.
Bart Johannsen reveled in his role as my savior and seemed to be getting more booty calls than he had before he saved my life. Fortunately, when Costas had decided to pay a visit to Siena dorm, Bart had actually been awake and had forced him to sign in, even though Costas had said he was “just staying for a minute.” If I hadn’t seen Costas’s name in the logbook, I never would have expected to see him. I don’t know that that had helped me in any way, but at least I hadn’t been totally surprised. Bart told me that after he had left the desk, he had decided to do some laundry, completely refreshed after his nap during working hours. When he went to the basement, he had found Trixie tied to a dryer and extremely agitated. He knew that I wouldn’t leave my dog in the laundry room and had decided to investigate. And I thank God that he did.
My last few weeks at school were spent hunting young women down and urging them to leave Siena, and Bart’s warm embrace, before visitation ended. Bart still fell asleep every time he sat desk but I decided that I really was in no position to take him to task for it. The lacrosse team had had a great season and went to sectionals, losing in the first round.
Mary Catherine Donnery, in a move that shocked even me, stayed with Michael Columbo during his dark hour, helping to coax him out of the depression into which he had fallen. She still tried to break curfew every chance she got, but I always caught her. I think. She was pretty slippery.
Wayne was out on bail pending his trial, living with his very disappointed parents. I got little information from Sister Mary, who was still angry at me for some reason, despite the fact that her darling nephew had been keeping half of St. Thomas high. I don’t know who Pinto or Etheridge paid off, but the story was kept pretty quiet so there wasn’t much to see in the paper. Wayne had been arrested in Scarsdale and that’s where the story stayed. Wayne’s former employment was mentioned in the news stories but the giant bag of pot and where it had been found was mysteriously missing information. Crawford told me what he knew, but since he really wasn’t all that interested in what had become of Wayne Brookwell, I didn’t get too many details.
For obvious reasons, the Brookwells and the Varicks were no longer on speaking terms.
Amanda hadn’t mentioned Wayne since that night on the driveway.
I felt kind of bad that I had suspected Brandon of wrongdoing in the whole T&G/Wayne thing but I had been grasping at straws at that point. If I ever had a chance to see Brandon again—and I suspected that graduation day might provide that opportunity—I would apologize to him. It wouldn’t be the first time I had mistakenly accused someone and, if my track record proved anything, it wouldn’t be the last.
As for me, I decided to move out of the dorm on graduation day and return home. I chose to put the red bedroom behind me and had hired an old friend to repaint it; I never discussed it with Max and she never brought it up. Merrimack had warned me that if they hadn’t found a suitable candidate for the resident director position by the beginning of August, I would be moving back in.
I told him to stick it.
There was a soft knock on the door; it was Kevin, someone I hadn’t spent a lot of time with in the past few weeks. He took in my getup and chuckled. “Nice hat.”
“You say that every year,” I said. “And people in Roman collars shouldn’t throw stones.”
“A mixed metaphor coming from our esteemed literature professor?” he asked.
I took his arm and pulled him into the room, leaving the door open. The last thing I needed was someone seeing our campus chaplain emerging from the previously closed door to my suite. “What’s up, Kevin?” I asked, returning to my packing.
“Going somewhere?”
I thought that was obvious. “Hopefully, I’m going home.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.” I got worried; did Kevin know something about my situation that I didn’t? I thought I had been pretty clear with Merrimack about my plans to leave.
“I don’t think they’ve found Wayne’s replacement yet.”
I threw my toiletry kit on top of my suitcase. “Not my problem.”
Kevin clapped his hands together. “Okay. Subject change. I just want to say, for the very last time hopefully, that I’m very, very sorry about what happened with Max and Fred. And I’m asking for your forgiveness.”
I stared at Kevin for a few minutes. “Come here,” I said, holding out my arms to give him a hug.
“I think I’ll stay here,” he said, pointing to the ground. “But thank you. I wanted to make sure everything was okay between us.”
“It’s fine, Kev,” I said. We had seen each other a few times since everything had happened but we hadn’t cleared the air officially. He was embarrassed and I was angry. But time heals, as they say. I have two best friends—and he’s one of them. I didn’t want to waste any more time being angry at a situation that would eventually resolve itself.
He was on an even shorter leash than usual when it came to the archdiocese and had stepped up his efforts around campus to become the best chaplain St. Thomas had ever seen. When he started a Tuesday night Scripture study group for the students, I knew that he was trying to stay out of trouble and get back in the bishop’s good graces.
“See you at graduation?” he asked, smiling.
“You will. I’ll be the one in the velvet tam,” I said, doffing my hat.
After he left, I did one more sweep of the bathroom, making sure that everything I had brought in with me was removed. When I came out, Amanda was in the doorway, looking less like the funky communications student she had been during her time at St. Thomas and more like a young woman. Her hair in a loose bun, she was wearing a pretty black and white dress
with an empire waist and patent leather T-strap pumps. “Hi, Professor Bergeron.” She only met my eyes for an instant before looking down.
“Amanda! I hardly recognized you,” I said. “Come in, come in.” She sat on the edge of my bed and watched while I pulled some books off the shelf in the parlor room. “Are you excited about graduation?”
She nodded but not before her eyes filled with tears. “I am.”
I knew why she was crying but I didn’t press it. Costas was in jail, awaiting a trial for drug trafficking, assault and battery (me), money laundering, and a host of other transgressions. Amanda and I had spoken a few times since my final encounter with her stepfather but we had never talked in detail about that night. But I could only imagine what she felt: betrayal, hurt, shock. Costas, the man she thought she could trust and could count on—the man who had changed her life as well as her mother’s—was nothing more than a criminal. I sat down on the bed next to her and attempted a pep talk, something I’m not great at giving.
“You’ve got your whole life in front of you, Amanda. What Costas did has nothing to do with you or where you’re headed.”
“I know,” she said softly. “I really do.”
I put my hand over hers and even Trixie came over and rested her head on the bed next to Amanda. “Are you going through with the wedding?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Brandon really does love me but I’m not sure what I want to do right now.”
It was out of my mouth before I could think. “Then wait.” I realized that it was none of my business but I couldn’t help myself. She had to wait. Her mental health depended on it. Her whole life depended on it.
“I won the Communications Award,” she said, changing the subject, a little embarrassed at the revelation.
“So I heard!” I said. “Sister Donna spilled the beans.” Give the head of the communications department a glass of chardonnay and she would reveal every secret she had. I smiled, thinking of her confiding in me during our final faculty cocktail party of the year. “I can’t imagine anyone who deserves it more.”
Final Exam Page 27
