Literally Dead

by Eryn Scott

  A worn ancient-looking Pee-Chee folder, stuffed almost to the point of busting, sat on top of the stack. I grabbed it and flipped it open. My face pulled into a grin. Inside the left pocket were a few yellowed essays which must’ve been typed on an actual type-writer. They were Fergie’s, from when she’d been in university at Oxford.

  Licking my lips in anticipation, I flipped open the first, about her analysis of Moby Dick. Oh my gosh, this was like gold. I loved reading young Fergie’s crisp and concise writing. I could see right away how she’d made a name for herself so quickly in this field.

  Sliding that paper back into the pocket, I turned my attention to the right side. This one held multiple envelopes, but they were the square-ish kind that usually held cards, instead of the long, business variety.

  My fingers curled into a fist mid reach. I glanced at the door to Fergie’s office. She’d closed it on her way out. I didn’t want to be invasive, but what could it hurt to look?

  Opening the oldest-looking one first and unfolding the crackly paper inside, I was met with a page full of small, scrawling script. It started with Dear Sharon, at the top. My eyes scanned to the bottom and I inhaled as I read, Love, Davis.

  My mind was a swirl of excitement and worry. I so desperately wanted to know more about Fergie and Dr. Campbell’s relationship, but I also didn’t want to pry into her personal life too much.

  Just a peek couldn’t hurt. Right?

  My eyes poured over the words and my heart ached as I read Dr. Campbell’s declarations of love for my beloved professor. They were young and mad about each other. So much so that he knew they would be fine as he finished his doctoral thesis in England and she moved back to the states where she’d gotten a job teaching at Northern Washington University.

  Folding it carefully, I tucked the letter back into its envelope and pulled out the next in the pocket. I know I said I wouldn’t pry, but now I was a girl who knew the beginning and end of a love story and I needed to figure out the middle. What had happened with them?

  Out of the twenty-or-so envelopes tucked into the pocket, I pulled out the next in line, also showing its age in color and wear. My heart broke as I read this one, dated almost two years later. Everything became clear. Dr. Campbell assured Fergie he was very happy for her and, no, he didn’t hold any resentment towards her for falling in love with Ben. One couldn’t help who they fell in love with. It was probably better this way.

  Fergie had broken it off, had met someone new. My fingers worked quickly, putting that letter away and pulling out another.

  I blinked at the date of the next one, and the crisp whiteness of the paper. Dr. C had written this one just last year. Those two had kept up writing letters, even beyond their relationship. Gulping, I read on.

  And I felt sick.

  Dearest Sharon,

  I’m so sorry, but I cannot do this. Never in my life did I think I would become an adulterer. Just writing that word makes me wish for a quick end. Mary needs me right now more than ever. I was a fool to forget that.

  Best, Davis

  Toads. Beetles. Bats.

  Dr. Campbell and Fergie were having an affair? While his wife was dying? And he’d called it off.

  Heat coated my throat and my tongue tasted bitter, metallic. No, it couldn’t be. I shook my head, wanted to run away from the doubt. But the problem was, with this new information, there wasn’t much doubt left.

  What if I’d been terribly wrong? What if Fergie wasn’t merely an old flame; she was a scorned lover? That would mean that the police were right. Dr. Ferguson had killed Davis Campbell.

  The letter crinkled in my hands as they began to shake.

  I needed to get out of there. Detective Valdez needed to see this letter. I scrambled to my feet.

  But the door opened and Fergie blocked my escape.

  19

  When I was six, our dog, Buttons, had found a bunny in the yard. His instincts had kicked in and he’d grabbed the thing by the neck when it tried to dart away. And while he hadn’t bitten down, the bunny had died — from a heart attack, my dad had explained. It had been so scared, its heart had stopped.

  I hadn’t fully understood how it could happen until that moment, standing in front of Fergie. My fingers, giving up, let go of the letter and it wafted to the floor. Her eyes narrowed as they slid from my twitchy eyes to the open folder on the floor.

  “Pepper, darling.” Her voice was sweet, as it always was when she spoke to me. But for the first time, I felt like it was an act, like she was merely playing out a scene. A villain luring in another victim.

  In her hands, she clutched a paper bag from the sandwich shop on campus. My eyes cut to my phone, where I’d left it on the floor. Dammit. I tried to calculate the possibility of grabbing it and running. She wasn’t a young woman. I didn’t work out, but surely I was faster than…

  My mouth went dry as I remembered the tea.

  The bitter taste. Fergie moving the cup closer, reminding me to drink.

  The room tilted and my face grew hot. She’d poisoned me, too. My hand raked at my throat. Oh my god. Was I already dying? Was it already too late? My heart raced in a way I’d never experienced before.

  “For goodness sake, Pepper. What happened?” She took a step toward me.

  My hand shot up, trembling as I held it out in front of myself. “No. Don’t — don’t come any closer.”

  Fergie’s face darkened. Her eyes flashed to the letter again.

  “I read it.” The words flew out of me before I could stop them. “I know you were having an affair, that he put a stop to it.” A weight settled on my chest. I shouldn’t be talking to her. I needed to run. I needed to get the police.

  But there was too big a part of my heart needing to know the truth.

  I’d trusted her.

  Dr. Campbell had trusted her.

  “Why’d you do it, Fergie?” Tears crowded my eyes.

  Her fire-engine-red mouth dropped open. “Pepper, I —” She stepped forward again.

  “No!” I sobbed. “I’ll scream. There has to be someone close.” I pointed to the hallway behind her. Was there? Classes were over for the day and darkness crept in through the window in Fergie’s office.

  Feeling momentarily hopeless, I whispered, “How long do I have? Is it at least quick?” I swallowed the seventeen other questions lining my throat.

  Fergie shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear.”

  “The poisoned tea. Just like you gave him. Hebanon. Like Hamlet.” My accusing eyes drilled into hers.

  Her eyes flitted back and forth around the room: to me, the tea cup, the letter, back to me. Oh, the woman really was made for the stage. Even when she was finally cornered, she still managed to act as if she were nonethe-wiser.

  “Pepper,” she said carefully. “You believe I did this?” There was a practiced sadness pushing her words forward.

  I swallowed and nodded.

  “Because you found a letter from Davis breaking it off with me?”

  I nodded again.

  The older woman closed her eyes. Her blue eyeshadow was so bright in the florescent lights of the office. Or maybe the poison was distorting my mind, a sign it was about to take me.

  She opened her eyes finally, a calm smile lifting her features. Fergie dipped her chin, gesturing to the folder of letters at my feet. “Before you run to the police. Would you please locate a white envelope with a butterfly stamp on it?”

  Licking my lips, I narrowed my eyes at her. What was she playing at?

  “Go ahead. Right in there.” She pointed.

  Unsure I even had enough time to get to the police before the poison took affect, I figured I might at least use my last few moments to find out where she was going with this.

  I kept my eyes on her as I knelt. My fingers splayed the remaining letters out on the ground until I found the one she was talking about. I picked up the envelope she mentioned, but also grabbed my phone before standing up, ho
lding it out to show her I could call someone at any moment if this didn’t go where I liked.

  Fergie nodded somberly.

  Slipping the phone in my pocket, so I could use both hands, I unfolded the requested letter. It was of different handwriting, the cursive letters fatter and taller than Dr. Campbell’s low scrawl. It was dated last year as well.

  Sharon,

  I should call, but I’m honestly not sure my voice would hold, nor am I positive I’d be able to say what I need to say as eloquently as I might through this pen. I’ve always loved Davis’ stories about how you two maintained written correspondence even in an increasingly paperless world.

  The long and short of it is: I’m dying. I have been for years and can see it taking such a toll on my dear Davis. It’s possible I’ll go tomorrow. It’s possible I’ll hang on for another ten years. This cancer may be killing my body, but it would kill my soul to know I’ve held Davis back from happiness. I’ve already talked to him about this, but I want him to move on, to start his new life, the rest of his life.

  And I hope he does that with you.

  He and I have had an amazing love, but I know you’ve always been in his heart. You have my blessing. Life is short. Start the rest of yours as soon as you can. You never know how much, or little, time you have left.

  “If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain”

  Mary

  My heartbeat pulsed, making my body sway with each new pump.

  “She gave you permission? Wanted you to be together?” I croaked, looking up to meet Fergie’s pained gaze.

  The woman nodded. “We never did, however. Davis, fortunately, was much stronger than I. That letter you found from him came in response to one I wrote… in essence asking if he would have me, if I could move to England and be with him.” She sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved Ben.”

  I remembered meeting Fergie’s tall husband before he’d passed about ten years ago. He had a booming laugh and always seemed to wear Fergie on his arm like a prize.

  A tear rolled down her cheek. “He had my body and my heart, that man. But Davis always had my mind. And the thought I could spend the rest of my days with him, quoting Shakespeare and discussing literary theory was enough of a temptation. I even applied for a job at Oxford last year, before receiving that letter from him.

  “It turned out for the best anyway,” she continued. “That was right around the time when your father…” her voice cracked and she shook her head, leaving the sentence unfinished. “I’m so glad I could be here for you through that.” Her eyes were soft, caring, loving.

  My mind reeled. I was so confused. This didn’t seem like an act.

  I pulled in a deep breath. “So you didn’t kill him?”

  Fergie shook her head. “I was hoping we might be able to start that life together, now Mary had really gone. It’s why I invited him out here. Alas…”

  “And you didn’t poison me?” I noticed my throat no longer felt hot.

  More head shaking. “I promise, it was just over-steeped Earl Gray. Unpalatable, but not deadly.”

  It felt like a weight lifted off my chest and I pulled in a deep breath. As I released it, my shoulders slumped forward, tired of the tension and the taut position in which I’d been holding myself.

  Now that I wasn’t watching her through the paranoid lens of accusation, she transformed back into my kind mentor. Her wrinkled face pulled into a sad smile. Nancy Drew would probably not have approved of what I did next, but… letting Mary’s letter flutter to the floor, I stepped forward and pulled Fergie into a hug.

  “I’m sorry I thought you were a murderer.” My words were muffled by her long blue scarf.

  Her bony arms wrapped around me and she patted my back. “It’s quite alright, dear. This has been difficult, to say the least.”

  Pulling back, I blinked. “But if Evensworth didn’t do it… and you didn’t do it… then it must’ve been Danny.”

  I was suddenly furious with myself for not making him more of a priority, for not questioning him yet. I just hoped the police had talked to Josh again.

  Wait. The police.

  “We need to let Detective Valdez know Danny’s the killer,” I said. My muscles tightened and I pushed away from Fergie.

  “Hold on there, dear.” Fergie grabbed onto my arm.

  My body wanted to spin out of there, needed to move. My forehead creased in question. “We can clear your name. Why hold on?”

  Fergie’s face softened. “Pepper, you’ve accused two souls of taking another today because you jumped to conclusions. Shall we think this through? Make sure you’ve got the right person this time?”

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I nodded. The woman had a good point.

  Fergie walked over to her desk, pushed aside the last remaining piles, and pulled up another chair. “How about you tell me over dinner why you think this Danny person killed him. Then, if the evidence is sufficient, we can head to see Detective Valdez together.”

  My soup and sandwich at Maggie’s had been hours ago and I could feel my stomach rumble at the thought of food.

  “Okay.” I plopped into the chair next to her and we ate while I told her everything.

  Fergie crunched down on a pickle, her eyes wandering along the ceiling as she contemplated what I’d told her.

  “It does sound like he’d have access to multiple options. Both Poison Hemlock and Western Water Hemlock grow around here. Even the motive is believable. People have killed for less.” Fergie sighed. “What I can’t make sense of is how he got the poison into Davis.”

  I nodded. That was where I was getting hung up, too. Before I could say anything, however, my phone buzzed with a text. It was Alex. I groaned.

  “Where are you?”

  There weren’t any emojis or an abundance of punctuation, but I could feel the tension lacing those words. He must’ve heard about my public hallway accusation. I glanced up at Fergie.

  “Any chance you think I could hide out in here forever?” I let out a strangled laugh.

  Fergie patted my hand with hers. “The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.”

  That Shakespeare quote was as good as Fergie telling me I needed to take care of what I’d created, not run away from it.

  I nodded and I texted back.

  “In Professor Ferguson’s office.”

  A few seconds later, his response popped up.

  “Meet me at the library. Now.”

  Oh boy. I was definitely in trouble. No need to read into that one.

  Exhaling, I slapped my hands down on my thighs. “Well, I need to go deal with the ill-yarn I’ve — er — knit?”

  “You do that, dear.” Fergie cleaned up our empty sandwich wrappers and placed them in the garbage. “I’ll keep working here.”

  Grabbing my bag, I stopped at the door. “I can come back later and help you finish up.”

  She waved a hand. “Nonsense. You got me started. That’s all I needed. I’ll be done here in no time.”

  I sighed and turned to leave. Even if she didn’t need me, it would be a good excuse to keep my meeting with Alex as short as possible.

  The night had fully wrapped its indigo robes around Pine Crest and the NWU campus by the time I stepped out into the chilly evening. Campus was eerily quiet. Sure, it was closing in on seven, but there were usually students milling about here and there. Tonight I didn’t see a soul in the span between the English building and the library. Where was everyone?

  My brain pulled up the memory of Liv’s text in answer to my question. The football game. Of course. Campus Creek trickled under my feet as I stopped for a moment on the small footbridge, taking in the delicious silence before I subjected myself to the scolding I knew was coming. My lungs full of cool air and my resolve steeled, I walked forward.

  Alex was waiting for me outside the library. My heart skipped slightly as I saw his eyes light up when they landed on me. He held two steaming to-go cups i
n his hands and strode toward me.

  Huh… He didn’t look angry. In fact, he seemed —

  “I’m so relieved to see you,” he sighed out the words and held the coffee towards me. Its swirling steam smelled heavenly, like caramel and chocolate.

  “It’s decaf,” Alex said, tipping his head to the dark sky. “Other than that, the creepy guy in the coffee shop said it was your favorite — something ridiculous I can’t remember.”

  My fingers made grabby motions at the cup. “A creamy caramel mocha pie latte?” I curled my hands around the warm drink and took a quick sip. “Oh…yummmmm.”

  I was in total warm-tummy, shoulders-pulled-up-high happiness when the conspiracy theory part of my brain woke up again. My eyes flashed to Alex’s relieved face.

  “What’s this for?” I asked. “And why are you so relieved to see me?”

  Alex’s dark eyes held me, then so did his hand squeezing my shoulder. “Pepper, don’t be mad. I needed the coffee as bait. I wasn’t sure how much convincing I would need to get you to come to me.”

  Pulse racing again, I lowered the drink and asked, “Why?”

  “I need you to stay away from her.” He still hadn’t removed his hand. “I spent all day at the station.”

  So that’s why he didn’t know about my embarrassing public accusation of Evilsworth.

  His voice dropped low and serious. “It’s her. Dad’s almost positive. They’re waiting for a test to come back from the lab and he’s going to make the arrest.”

  “Arrest Fergie? That’s ridiculous,” I said with a surprising amount of astonishment for a person who’d accused the woman of the same crime only an hour before.

  I shoved the cup back toward him and smacked his hand off my shoulder. “Here, I don’t want your stupid delicious bait coffee. I know she didn’t do it.”

  Alex’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t take the cup. “She did and you’re in danger, too. Or do you not remember the threatening note she left you when she broke into your place yesterday?”

  I blinked, shaking my head. “No. I just spent hours with her. She could’ve killed me so many times if she’d wanted.” I decided not to mention the “poison” Earl Gray tea incident.