by Leigh Perry
“Oh?” I sat down next to him.
“I’m interested in the building itself. You see, it’s mine.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“That building belongs to me.”
23
I finally put it together. “You’re a McQuaid?”
“I used to be,” he said. “Nelson Paul McQuaid the Third. Mannix is my mother’s name, and nobody has called me anything but Treasure Hunt since before you were born.”
“You’re not— I mean, I would have expected—” I stopped. “You know, there’s no way out of that sentence that won’t end with me sounding like a jerk.”
He grinned. “I don’t exactly fit your image of a missing heir, do I?”
“Let’s just say that you’ve got a very different style than the McQuaids I’ve met.”
“I’ll take your word for it. I haven’t seen my sisters since my father’s funeral, and never have met any of my nieces. I left all that family crap behind—at least I meant to. You see my mother died when I was young, and my old man and I never did get along. He had all kinds of plans for me, but I had other ideas. Plus I got into a little trouble. So I took off and joined a carnival. I never saw him again.”
“Really? That’s sad.”
He shrugged. “Once or twice a year, I’d send him a letter to tell him that I was still alive, and then when I got married and had the kid. All I got back was a fat lot of nothing until he died, which is when his executor let me know that Dad had cut me from his will. That was what I’d expected, and I figured that was the last of my connections to the family until a couple of months ago.
“That’s when some lawyer tracked me down and told me I was the heir of record for that building there.” He nodded at McQuaid Hall. “Apparently Dad couldn’t think of a way to disinherit me. Granddad wasn’t what you would call a modern thinker, but he knew how to make a bulletproof will, and he wanted his aunt Persephone’s legacy honored. So he specified that McQuaid Hall pass to the oldest male descendent. Meaning Dad, then me, and then Brownie. I might be the McQuaid black sheep, but I’m male. Of course, the building still belongs to the college as long as they play by the rules from Granddad’s will.
“Except the lawyer claimed that the college had broken its side of the bargain by only using the place a few nights a year, meaning that it’s mine after all. He called again after the murder, said he wants to handle the case. Dad must be rolling in his grave, and my relatives are probably burning up the phone lines to their lawyers, seeing if they can make it all go away.”
“Something like that,” I said, remembering how upset the Quintet had been.
“If things do go my way, we’re talking serious money,” he said with satisfaction, “but the best part is going to be messing with my relations. When I came for Dad’s funeral—which I only did out of respect for my mother—they acted like I was dirt. My own sisters wouldn’t talk to me! Brownie thinks I should let it go, but can you blame me for wanting to get a little payback?”
“Not really.” Deborah and I didn’t always get along, but I couldn’t imagine her treating me that way.
He looked up at McQuaid. “It’s a hell of a thing. For the past umpteen years, I’ve been going by a different name and never even living in a building for more than a month at a time. Now suddenly I own one with my old name carved into the bricks. At least I will until I sell it, assuming the college doesn’t find a way to hang onto the place.”
“I imagine they’ll try to buy it back if all else fails.”
“They can have it if they pay me enough to beat out any other buyers.” He gave me a sideways glance. “I suppose you think I’m a louse for thinking of selling the building out from under the school.”
It was difficult to know how to respond. Should I go on one knee and beg him to let the university keep the building despite the terms of the will, or berate him for trying to take it back? What I said was, “I do have some loyalty to McQuaid, since I work here, and even more because my parents are tenured here, but I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same thing if somebody offered me that kind of money.” Even the idea roused my old dream of buying a house of my own someday. “Besides, there’s nothing I could say to change your mind anyway.”
He grinned again. “You’re pretty bright for a college gal.” He stood and stretched. “I think I’ll be heading back toward the cook shack. You want to come along? Stewpot is making fried chicken today.” He waggled his eyebrows. “College Boy will be there, putting on the feed bag.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got plans.” I didn’t, but after Treasure Hunt’s bombshell, I had things to think about and discuss with Sid. Besides which, Brownie had known of my interest in the McQuaid bequest, and hadn’t said a word about his father being involved. He could eat fried chicken all by himself.
24
“I did not see that coming,” Sid said, though at least he waited until we got into my minivan before speaking. “You realize that this gives Treasure Hunt a motive to commit murder. Ditto his wife and the mysterious lawyer. And um . . .”
“I know. It gives Brownie that same motive, especially since we know he was at the haunt on the night of the murder. But I’m not buying it.”
“You could if you had that money.”
“Look, the lawyer claimed there was a good chance of Treasure Hunt getting the building before the murder, so why get drastic? And it didn’t even work—we reopened the haunt.”
“Okay, that’s a point.”
“And say I’ve decided to sabotage the haunt. There are plenty of easier ways: arson, bomb threats, planting religious protesters saying that Halloween is the devil’s day.”
“That’s two-thirds of a good point.”
“How about planting rats or bugs and then calling health inspectors? The risk would be a lot lower. Getting caught putting rats into a building is probably no more than a misdemeanor—”
“I could look that up when we get home.”
“Don’t bother. Whatever it counts as, it’s less risky than murder.”
“I guess,” he said, not sounding convinced.
“Then what about opportunity? How would either Brownie or Treasure Hunt have gotten into McQuaid?”
“Didn’t Oscar just say it would be pretty easy?”
“He said lots of keys are floating around, but how would they have one? Treasure Hunt said he’d been avoiding Pennycross for years.”
“He did say that, but people have been known to lie. And doesn’t the carnival have a pickpocket on staff? Maybe she picks locks, too.”
“You’re profiling. Even if Soda Pop can pick locks, the carnival only set up on the Thursday before the murder. They wouldn’t have had time to do all this key finding, lock picking, and baseball bat arranging.”
“Actually,” Sid said, “you remember how I checked to see if there had been any other murders in towns where the carnival had been?”
“You actually wasted time on that?”
“I’ve got nothing but time! It turns out that Fenton’s last stand was half an hour away, tops. That’s an easy commute for dirty work.”
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. “What about framing Linda? Why and how would they do that?”
“Now that is a worthy point, untainted by your wish to hook up with Brownie.”
I stuck out my tongue at him, both because I thought it was justified and because he can’t reciprocate. What he could do was roll his skull over, which is the closest he could get to turning his back on me.
Our mutual silent treatment lasted until just before we got home, when I finally said, “Sid, do you really think Treasure Hunt or Brownie killed Kendall?”
“Bottom line? I think that just about anybody could kill given the right provocation—”
“Thanks a lot.”
“What if somebody was about to shoot Mad
ison?”
“Fair enough. We both know I’d kill in a heartbeat to protect her.”
“So of course I think Treasure Hunt and Brownie could kill for the right reason, but I don’t think the reasons we’ve found would be enough. Therefore you have my permission to suck face with Dr. Mannix.”
“No, thank you.”
“Don’t tell me you think he’s guilty!”
“I don’t think he’s a killer, but I know he wasn’t honest and forthcoming with me. That’s reason enough to forgo face sucking.”
I meant it, too. Sure, Brownie was attractive and intelligent, and had a wonderfully quirky way of looking at the world, and was a good kisser—I made myself stop counting up good qualities, and concentrated on the failings instead.
The rest of the day was taken up with the trivia of normal life. I went grocery shopping, resisting all efforts by my mother to “help out” with some money. I did laundry, graded papers, and planned out lessons for the week. And I tried very hard to not think about murder or Brownie Mannix’s kissing skills.
Once classes were over on Monday, I headed for the adjunct office, grabbed my mail, and went inside. As luck would have it, Brownie was at his desk chatting with Sara Weiss when I came in.
“Hi, Georgia,” Brownie said.
“Dr. Mannix,” I said and sat down.
Brownie was clearly taken aback and Sara’s ears perked up like Byron’s when he heard us open the bin where we kept his food. I ignored them both and set up my laptop to start grading papers.
A moment later, there was a ping from my phone and a text from Brownie appeared.
What did I do?
I deleted the message, and went back to work. A few minutes later, there was another ping.
This isn’t fair. I give great apologies, but I can’t apologize if I don’t know what I did.
He had a point—I was angry, but he had a right to know why and I deserved the satisfaction of telling him to his face. So I turned toward his desk and said, “By the way, I ran into your father yesterday. He was outside McQuaid Hall, taking a good look at it.”
“Oh,” he said faintly. I went back to my laptop.
Five more minutes passed before another text arrived.
Would rather not discuss with Sara listening. Can we go somewhere?
Knowing he was watching, I started getting ready to go. Sara, who must have realized that Brownie and I were communicating in some way that did not enable her to listen, said, “Leaving so soon, Georgia?”
“I just remembered a lunch date,” I said. I walked out slowly, and a couple of minutes later, Brownie caught up with me, though we didn’t speak as we walked. We continued not talking until we were seated at Hamburger Haven and supplied with drinks and burgers that I suspect neither of us had an appetite for.
“So, Dad told you.”
“That he’s the lost McQuaid heir I was telling you about the other night? Yes, he did.”
“Do I get any credit for not pretending that I didn’t know?”
I held up my thumb and index finger so there was just a sliver of light showing between them. “You get this much credit.”
“Look, I knew about this lawyer tracking down Dad with a song-and-dance about getting a lot of money, but we all figured it was gaffed. That will has been in place for a lot of years, but no money had made its way into Dad’s grouch bag, so we didn’t expect anything was going to happen now. He didn’t even want to take the stand in Pennycross—you heard him say so yourself.”
“He did say something about that,” I allowed.
“Still, I can’t say I wasn’t curious about McQuaid and Dad’s relatives.”
“You’re a McQuaid, too, so they’re also your relatives.”
“I’m a Mannix—that’s the name Dad was using when Mom and he got married, and that’s the name he gave me. I’ve never had anything to do with the McQuaids. But once we got this gig and I heard through the grapevine that the school had an opening in my field, I figured what the hell? Getting paid to teach here would be the first money the McQuaids had ever given us.”
“They don’t own the university.”
“I know, but it still feels like poetic justice. I don’t care about meeting any of them, but I did want to see the building.”
“I can see why you’d be curious.”
“That’s all it was, too. After the murder, the lawyer called my father again with a lot of talk, but neither Mom nor I really think anything is going to happen. The only people who make money off a deal like this are the lawyers. Who needs the aggravation? Dad just wants to stir things up.”
“You still haven’t explained why you didn’t mention this the other night.”
“Other than it not being any of your business?”
“Oh.” I took a bite of my rapid-cooling cheeseburger. “You know I’m trying to find out who killed Kendall?”
He nodded.
“And even more important, I’m trying to get an innocent girl out of jail.”
He nodded again.
“That means I’m finding out all kinds of stuff that isn’t any of my business.”
“Are you saying this stuff with my father has something to do with that girl’s murder?”
“It might.”
“Do you think my father killed her? Or that I did?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be eating lunch with you.”
“That’s good, anyway.”
Neither of us spoke for a while, but finally I took a deep breath and said, “I think an apology is called for.”
“You’re right. Georgia, I’m—”
“Brownie, I’m sorry.”
“Okay, that wasn’t what I was expecting.”
“The fact is, I’ve been being a pain in the coccyx. I have no right to be offended. We’ve been having fun together, and I hope you consider me a friend, but we haven’t known each other long enough for me to expect you to trust me, especially when your family is involved. So I apologize.”
“Oh. Okay.”
I was expecting him to look gratified rather than nonplussed. “Was I not abject enough? I really am sorry.”
“No, I accept your apology unreservedly. I just feel bad because I didn’t trust you.”
“Wait, you can’t apologize to me—I’m the one apologizing.”
“I can apologize if I want to.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Yes, I can.”
“Can not.”
“Can too.”
“Can not.”
“Can too.”
We started laughing at the same time, which ended the argument nicely, and when he did make an attempt to apologize again, I stopped him the best way I knew how.
He really was a good kisser.
After lunch ended much more pleasantly than it had begun, Brownie had to run to make it to his next class, and I knew I probably had students waiting at Mom’s office. Sure enough, when I got there, one was leaning against the wall looking terribly aggrieved. I’d have felt more guilty if he hadn’t missed the past three classes with no good explanation.
When the line petered out later that afternoon, I remembered that I’d been so busy shunning Brownie that I’d forgotten to look at the assortment of envelopes I’d picked up outside the adjunct office.
It was mostly made up of the usual notes from students asking for more time to complete papers and/or extra credit assignments, and questions that would have easily been answered by their reading the syllabus I’d handed out on the first day of classes. Of course, if they’d read the syllabus, they’d know I preferred that such communications come by e-mail.
The last piece was a plain business-sized envelope, with my name written on the front in printed, capital letters. No postmark or university interoffice stamp, so somebody had put it int
o the mailbox personally. I opened it up and pulled out a single piece of white paper with three lines of text:
STOP LOOKING FOR ME OR YOU’LL BE SORRY.
THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING.
THE NINJA
25
I stared at the letter for a solid minute before the snickers started. A full-out laugh wasn’t far behind. I knew anybody passing by would think I was insane, but I just couldn’t stop myself. Okay, sure, Sid and I had dressed up as Scooby and Velma, but getting a note from “the Ninja” was over the top. The only thing that stopped my giggles was seeing a student outside my open door, so I tried to pull myself together to help him with his paper. Was it my fault if his essay comparing Hong Kong action films to American superhero movies mentioned the prevalence of ninja in both genres?
I headed home as soon as my student left, and went straight to Sid’s room to show him the not-so-threatening letter.
“You weren’t scared?” he asked.
“Of this? Sacrum, Sid, the only way this guy could have made it cornier is to have cut letters out of a newspaper to spell it out, ransom-note style.”
“Yeah, but it means that somebody knows you’re asking questions about the disappearing ninja.”
“The Disappearing Ninja would make a great Hong Kong movie title.”
“Georgia, you’re not taking this seriously,” he said, waggling a finger bone.
“Sid, do you really think a cold-blooded murderer would be silly enough to leave a note like this? This is like something the Creeper or the Ghost Clown would leave on the windshield of the Mystery Machine. My guess is that somebody thought it would be funny.”
“Who? Who knew you were looking for a ninja?”
“Okay, that’s a good question.” The more I thought about it, the odder it seemed.
My family all knew, but I felt pretty safe in ruling them out. Hector might have thought I had an unhealthy interest, but since I’d done him a favor by getting him his ring back, he would have no reason to scare me.
Brownie knew, but I couldn’t seeing him playing that kind of prank, especially when he was still feeling apologetic. Soda Pop? She wouldn’t have known where my mailbox was. Brownie could have told his parents, and I could see Treasure Hunt playing the joke, but he’d have wanted to see my face when I found the note.
