“Good girl. Ice is great for soft-tissue injuries.”
“I think so. I’m really sorry about this weekend. I had it all planned. I was going to come visit you no matter what, and I could have. This car will go through anything. But the doctor told me I had to stay put here and off the foot.”
Guy laughed. “You stay put. Unfortunately you know I can’t come down. I have the kids this weekend, and I don’t think you need all of them running around your house while you are immobilized. On my feet, I find them a handful.”
“They’re really great kids, but you’re right. They wouldn’t find it much fun if you had to babysit a grown, grouchy woman. Next weekend is Thanksgiving, so I have a short week. I know Canadians don’t celebrate our Thanksgiving so you won’t have time off, but maybe you can come the Friday after Thanksgiving and there’ll be turkey left over, and stuffing, and gravy, and, you’ll have me to yourself.”
“You are absolutely forbidden to get up and make any kind of dinner. Give that foot a chance to heal.”
“Der will cook it all.”
“Have you asked him if he would, if he could?”
“No, but I’ll tell him tomorrow. I know he’s not going down home for the holiday, so he might as well spend it with me. I was going to invite him and a few other people. Some of my students aren’t able to go home either. We’ll have a merry little group here. Der can do the cooking. You can join us late on Friday for leftovers. How about that?”
“Sounds great, but you better clear it with Der. Ask him politely. Don’t tell him. It sounds as if he’s had his hands full with this case, and with you, I might add.”
“Me? What about me? I’m helping him. He should be grateful he has me. Did he tell you I was being a problem? I’ll have his hide if he did.”
“No, no, no. He’s said nothing to indicate you have been anything but…” Guy searched for the right word… “you, just yourself, as usual. That’s all. I think the case is wearing him down.”
“That’s just crazy. We’re finally getting somewhere, and he’s getting worn down?”
“Laura, some people don’t look at a hit-and-run as a sign that the case is about to be cracked. They worry about the victim.”
“Oh. Right. You’re right. I’ll try to act more like a victim then.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Just cut Der a little slack, will you?”
“I’ll be nice. I can be nice, you know.”
“Yeah, I remember your being pretty nice at times. Say, do you think we can work around that ankle if we try?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“You know very well what I mean. Your bed, your body, my body, no clothes, Sam locked outside the door, phone off the hook.”
“And Der pulls into the drive with donuts.” We both laughed into the phone, Guy less heartily than I.
“I love you, baby.”
“Love you too, Guy”
“Oh, and Laura?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t drink too much of that scotch. Save some of the ice for your ankle.” He rang off with a laugh.
Chapter 17
Someone was running a wet rag over my face and ringing a shrill bell in my ear. No, it was Sam’s tongue on my cheek, and the phone was ringing. I turned onto my side to see the clock. The digital face read eight o’clock. My eyes couldn’t focus well enough to tell whether the red dot to the left of the eight indicating a.m. or p.m. was lit. The room seemed too dark for morning. I reached for the phone.
“I thought I’d check on you. The patrol car said your house was all dark when they went by just a few minutes ago. They said everything looked all right, but I thought I’d call. Did I wake you? Need anything? How about coffee in the morning? Should I drop by?” Der sounded cheerful, too bloody cheerful for my taste. “Say something, Laura.”
“Morning. Donuts.” I banged the receiver into its cradle and fell back onto the pillow. The stars shined through the skylight above my bed, lighting the early night sky and making it impossible for me to get to sleep again. I rolled myself onto my stomach and reached into the bedside stand, extracting a phone book. A flick of the switch on my bedside lamp bathed the phonebook in light. I needed to call Lottie Guthrie the secretary in the Art Department to pick her brain about Marie Becca.
“George? Hi. It’s Laura Murphy. Yeah, I know. It has been a while.” George was Lottie’s husband, a short, fat little man who was a professor of chemistry at the college. He was a wealth of information, most of it, surprisingly enough, not in chemistry, but in art and literature. I found him interesting to listen to for about the first twenty minutes of any encounter. George wasn’t good at picking up cues from his listeners, and he tended to go on and on, oblivious to his audience’s loss of interest in his topic, and talking over any interruptions provided by those around him. I hoped Lottie was home and that she would be quick coming to the phone.
“Is Lottie there?” I tried to interrupt a launch into a monologue about art.
“Oh, sure she is. She’s upstairs. I’ll get her.”
I listened to silence on the line, absentmindedly patting Sam on her silky golden head.
“Just coming.” George’s voice came back on the line. “You know we just recently saw a wonderful impressionist’s show in Buffalo. The most magnificent Renoir.”
“George,” Lottie’s voice rang out from the background. “Leave poor Laura alone. She called to talk with me.” Lottie must have grabbed the receiver out of his hand because the next sound I heard on the line was Lottie’s voice apologizing for George.
“You know how he is, Laura. He just goes on and on about things and won’t let anyone get a word in. The exhibit was nice though. I heard you’ve had a series of mishaps. Someone ran over you, did they?”
I explained about the hit-and-run and then told Lottie of my fall. “But I’m staying off the foot now, so I hope it will heal.”
“You only fell this afternoon. If I know you, you’ll be out the door tomorrow morning at dawn.”
“Well, I was wondering if we could meet somewhere for lunch tomorrow. I haven’t seen you for a while.”
“And you wanted to pick my brain about Marie Becca, right? Love to. But rather than encourage you in ignoring your doctor’s orders, how about I drive out to the lake with lunch? I’ll pick up some sandwiches or salads at Tina’s Deli. We’ll have a winter picnic in front of your stove. Sound good?”
“Oh, really, yes it sounds great.”
“I’ll be there about noon. I remember the way. Oh, I won’t bring George along, although I’m sure he’s dying to see you. You’re always such a sympathetic audience for him. You know, you can just walk away from him when you get bored. You won’t hurt his feelings. He just keeps on talking and hardly notices if anyone’s listening or not.”
“Um, could you make it a little earlier?” I patted my empty stomach as it let out a growl.
I was so tired, I felt I wanted to sleep until late morning, roll down the stairs and make coffee about five minutes before Lottie was due to arrive. My stomach let out another growl, and I knew that it was likely it would win out over the sleep.
Sam jumped off the bed and started toward the door, turning to look at me, her brown eyes filled with need. I might as well get up. I limped down the hallway to the stairs, sat down on the top landing, and butt-walked myself down the stairs. At the bottom, I hopped the few steps to my crutches and hobbled into the kitchen. I was closing the kitchen door after letting Sam out when the phone rang.
“It’s Emily.” Good, it was my friend from Barnett College.
“I hope it’s not too late to call you, but I’ve had a long day and just got home and I wanted to let you know what I found out about Marie Becca.” I propped the crutches against the kitchen table. They immediately fell onto the floor.
“Oh, damn,” I said.
“I did call too late,” Emily said, an apologetic tone in her voice.
“No, not you. It’s
these crutches.” I quickly explained my injury and its history.
“Wow, things are heating up in Marie’s murder. Why am I not surprised you’re in the middle of all of this?”
“So tell me what you’ve found out.” I sat down at the table.
“It’s not a lot, but you’ll find it interesting, I’m sure. Marie was an excellent student here, at least until her last month of classes when suddenly her grades plummeted. She finished the semester, but got poor marks on her final exams and wrote inferior papers for classes requiring them. When she notified the college that she wouldn’t be returning for her sophomore year, they asked her to do an exit interview. It’s standard with all students choosing not to return. Gives us some information on what the college might do to keep these kids. In Marie’s case, she simply said the college was too small, that she needed more programs from which to choose her major. But, you know, that’s what’s really strange. I checked and her major was English. Barnett College has a good reputation in that area. We’ve attracted some well-published scholars here in literature, most are fabulous instructors, and the students love them, with the exception of a few, of course. Every department has some deadwood as you know.”
“So Marie left and came here. Well, the college here is much larger, but I doubt whether the English Department is better. It sounds like she was looking for anonymity as well as running away from something at Barnett. Perhaps a bad roommate situation? Trouble with a boyfriend? Do you know anything about her family?”
“Now there’s a real tragedy,” Emily said. “Both her parents are dead, killed in a car accident when she was very young, five or so. Her maternal grandmother, who died when Marie was a senior in high school, raised her. Marie had no family living by the time she entered college.”
“Maybe the poor grades at the end of the semester were related to a delayed reaction to her grandmother’s death, maybe depression setting in. Her losses could have caught up with her. But then, how could she have recovered so quickly once she transferred here? Her performance here was perfect, a repeat of her early days at Barnett. Something happened to her that drove her away from Barnett, I’d bet.”
“I’ll keep at it, and see what I can track down. I know this isn’t exactly legal, but I can get a copy of her transcript from here if you want it.”
“Emily, you’re beginning to sound like me. Never mind getting me the transcript. I can get it myself from her records here. But thanks for the offer. And thanks for all the work. If you do find out anything else, and, I mean anything ,no matter how trivial it seems, call me.”
“Okay, will do. Take care of that ankle and be careful. I know how you are. You are one smart woman, but you have no sense when it comes to your own safety.”
Emily rang off with a promise to keep in touch. Sam scratched at the door.
I maneuvered myself to open the door to a cold and wet Sam. Much more of this running about in the snow and that dog would mildew. She was always wet.
“C’mere, Sam. I’ve got to dry you off a bit.” I awkwardly got down on my knees and dried Sam’s feet, legs and underbelly with the towel I kept by the door. “You’re starved, I know. So am I.”
I explored the cupboard. “You’ll eat and I won’t, unless I want to join you in a can of dog food.”
Finally, at the back of the cupboard I found a can of tomato puree. Some pasta and a bit of onion, and it would be Italian night.
Seated later in front of the fire with a plate of spaghetti on my lap, most of it untouched, and my injured foot elevated onto a stack of floor pillows in front of me, my mind wandered over the events of the last few weeks. Why had someone, probably the murderer, chosen to play with my research, warn me off first with a note after breaking into my lab, and then run me down with a car? I knew the questions, but not the answers, and like Der, I was beginning to feel down about this case. I yawned and looked up the stairs.
I called to Sam; she arose from in front of the fire and headed toward the door. As I let her out into the yard, I looked up at the clock over the fridge. Eleven p.m. Sam began to bark in the yard. I heard a car slow down and then stop. Sam’s barking grew more frantic. I turned on the light outside the door and stuck my head out.
“Sam! Come.” She obediently ran up to me, hair on the back of her neck standing on end. I stepped out onto the walk and grabbed her collar.
A car door closed, and a figure appeared at the end of the walkway. Was I stupid to come outside to check? I held my cell in my hand, ready to punch in 9-1-1.
“Dr. Murphy. Is it okay for us to come in?” someone called from the shadows. “It’s Rachel and Tanya, your research assistants.”
“It’s okay, girl,” I said to Sam. “Friends.” Sam looked delighted at the news, picked up one of her sticks beside the door and pranced down the drive to meet the visitors with play in mind.
“Come on in. What are you doing out here and at this time of night?”
I showed them into the kitchen where I gestured toward the hooks inside the door for their coats.
“Coffee?”
“No thanks. Please sit down. We heard about your latest mishap today. You shouldn’t be walking around on that foot, you know,” Tanya said. Rachel merely nodded her agreement. “We know it’s late, but we figured you’d still be up. You always said you weren’t a morning person,” Tanya continued.
“So we took a chance,” Rachel said.
“Let’s sit in the living room in front of the fire.” The fire was still high in the stove and cast a cheery light over the room.
“This is great,” said Tanya. She settled into the sofa. Sam looked into her face as if confirming her doggy sense that this was someone who could be manipulated into play.
“She’s picked you as the one she thinks most likely to play with her. Just ignore her.”
“How can I? She’s so loveable, though she seemed so fierce when we pulled up.” Tanya ruffled the fur on Sam’s chest and petted her head. “It took us a while to find your place. Paula told us how to get here. She’d been here last spring, but her directions were pretty vague. We’ve been kind of driving around for a while.”
“Well, that, and it took you a long time to decide to come, you know,” said Rachel.
“I thought this could wait until after Thanksgiving, when Dr. Murphy was in better shape,” Tanya said. The tension between the two young women was new to me. Their very different natures usually seemed to complement one another. Now it was obvious that something was amiss.
“Tell her,” said Rachel.
“I’ll be right back.” Tanya arose and ran out the door toward the car. Several minutes later she appeared with a large box in her hands. Rachel opened the door and helped Tanya maneuver the burden into the living room. They placed it on the carpet in front of me.
“I received a notice from the campus mail center today that there was a box too large for my campus mailbox being held in the main office. We went down to claim it late this afternoon.”
“I don’t understand.” I looked at the box with curiosity. It was already open; the top flaps were loose. I turned my head to be able to see the return address, but the light from the fire was too dim for reading.
“It was sent to her from Ryan Cleates, the other day. You tell her the rest.” Rachel turned toward her sister.
“There was a note to me inside. Ryan said he was leaving for a while, and he needed to store some of his stuff, but that he couldn’t trust the guys in the house to take care of it. So he was entrusting it to me. Then he wrote the funniest thing in the note.” At this point she handed the note to me. I took the paper and leaned closer to the fire to see the writing. It was as Tanya described it. The final line read: “If anything happens to me, get this stuff to Dr. Murphy. She’ll know what to do with it.”
“No one seems to know where Ryan is. It’s just creepy. I didn’t know what to do. Ryan and I barely knew one another—just an evening when I attended a frat party he was at and a few conversations on
campus. We had one class together, and we talked sometimes after class, but I didn’t really think of him as a close friend. Why would he send me his things?”
“I don’t think he really had many friends. You were probably as nice to him as anyone he’d ever met, perhaps with the exception of Marie.”
“He knew Marie Becca?” Tanya was shocked.
“But what’s even more important, I think, is his request that this be turned over to you, if anything happens to him. I wanted Tanya to get this to you as soon as possible. Why wait until after Thanksgiving?” Rachel turned accusing eyes on her sister. Now I saw the source of the tension between the two—Tanya’s desire to spare me because of my injury and Rachel’s acknowledgment that I needed to know about the note now. I smiled to myself. Rachel might be the shy one, but there was a boldness in that quiet manner that I had to respect.
“Have you looked at the contents of the box?” I asked of the two.
Compatibility established once more, the two answered together, “No.”
“I think you were right to leave the contents as they were, and I’m glad you decided to bring this out to me. I’m not going to look in there until I call Detective Pasquis and let him know what you brought me.”
“Does that mean we can’t see what’s in there?” said Rachel.
“It was addressed to me,” Tanya said.
I considered Tanya’s statement. It was technically her property, and Der certainly would want her permission to go through the box. I admired the young women’s restraint in not examining the contents and their initiative in bringing it to me. I knew they were curious and had every right to be.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll call the detective now, and we’ll set up a meeting here for sometime tomorrow so that we can examine what Ryan sent to you.” I punched Der’s contact into my cellphone. He answered on the third ring and sounded wide awake even though it was close to midnight.
“Okay, Murphy, what trouble are you in now, and how did you manage to get into it on crutches?”
I ignored his comments and explained about the box that Rachel and Tanya delivered to me.
Failure is Fatal Page 15
