Catch a Falling Knife

by Alan Cook

So I can wave it at my dreams?

  Keep it, Lady Luck.

  Each lass is Satan’s earthly prize.

  He makes angels run amuck

  And blinds them with his laser eyes.

  “Beats me,” Tess said, shaking her head. “Something about having luck, of course. But Satan, and angels running amuck? The girl needs help, I think.”

  I didn’t have a ready explanation so I showed Tess the “light my fire” poem, saying, “Read this poem that she wrote about Mark and Elise and tell me what you think about it.”

  Tess read it and said, “It sounds as if Elise had a thing for Mark.”

  “Either that or Donna has a thing for Mark. In fact, Donna told me she has a crush on Mark. Maybe both of them had a crush on Mark. If you recall, Mark said Elise made some sort of a declaration of adoration to him during the session that resulted in the harassment charge.”

  “The eternal triangle—or rectangle. Does Sandra know all this?”

  “Not all of it. But she’s smart enough to know that whatever the girls felt, it wasn’t reciprocated. Mark wasn’t part of it.”

  “So has Sandra taken him back?”

  “Well…no. Although they seemed to get along all right yesterday. They even went for a walk together. But Mark is still staying with me. Right now he’s at the college trying to get his suspension lifted.”

  Tess shook her head. “Remind me never to give any money to Crescent Heights College. But to get back to the murder, which is what we’re really talking about, are you surmising that Donna killed Elise because Elise had a crush on Mark—or because she filed a harassment charge against Mark?”

  “I’m not surmising anything yet. But it does appear that Donna and Elise had their differences.”

  Chapter 16

  On Tuesday the wind blew and it rained. A cold rain. Although it rained hard only sporadically, it rained constantly. It reminded me of a trip I had taken to northern Scotland once when it rained for several days without stopping, making sightseeing difficult and the prospect of sitting in front of the cozy fire at our Bed and Breakfast place attractive.

  Mark drove to Crescent Heights College early to meet with the people who were deciding his fate. They had granted him a hearing on his suspension. I wanted to get to Bethany, myself, but it wouldn’t have done any good to ride with Mark because I needed my own car and because I didn’t know how long I would be there.

  Tess and Wesley were both busy this morning so I went to my pool aerobics class alone. Sandra and Albert were working. The only option I had was to drive myself to Bethany. I hated to leave King alone for long, which I had been doing too much recently, but duty called. Because of the rain I left her inside. I did get Tess to promise that she would check on King when she got back from wherever she was going and let the dog out to pee.

  Because of my problem reading signs I don’t like to drive out of Chapel Hill by myself. I also don’t like to drive on Interstates and freeways. But since I had been to Bethany several times recently I knew the way. I drove with my lights on—a North Carolina state law when it rains—and stayed to the right on the faster roads, particularly I-85, which I took north from Durham. I also slowed down because of the rain, although nobody else seemed to adjust their driving for the weather. I tried to keep out of the way of the trucks and the large SUVs. At one stop sign I pulled up behind a Lexus SUV, which sounded like an oxymoron to me—a luxury sport utility vehicle? Traffic had increased over the years in the research triangle area—Chapel Hill, Durham and Raleigh. This was a sign that the area was booming. But it also made driving more difficult.

  Once in Bethany I found the road to Eric Hoffman’s house without any trouble and was proud of myself. I spotted his place because of the gravel driveway with the pickup truck parked in it that looked like Albert’s. Another car stood in the driveway that I didn’t remember seeing before. I parked behind them and walked gingerly on the gravel toward the house, holding an umbrella.

  A deep growl reminded me of the presence of Monster, the dog. He came out of the open garage where he had been sheltered from the rain and stationed himself between me and the front door. He may have been a Great Dane; he was certainly big enough. I decided that since I might be coming here again I should try to make friends with him. “Good dog, Monster,” I said. I repeated this several times.

  He seemed to recognize his name and stopped growling. I advanced slowly to the limit of his leash so that he could sniff me, although I kept my hands behind me, not wanting to lose one in case his intentions weren’t honorable. I wasn’t able to hold the umbrella up so the raindrops, given force by the wind, became tiny stinging projectiles pelting my face and neck.

  In addition, I realized that my throat was exposed to Monster so I stepped back, beyond his reach, until he calmed down. I had King’s scent on me and he investigated this with his nose. Then I carefully reached out one hand and patted him on his head.

  “I see you’ve made a friend of Monster,” a female voice with a southern accent said from the front door.

  I turned and saw a woman of about Mr. Hoffman’s age. She looked familiar, probably because of the family portrait in their living room. She had the same dark hair and dark eyes as Elise, but her body showed the signs of good living, or at least a life in which food had not been scarce.

  I had prepared a speech for Mr. Hoffman, and seeing someone else took me by surprise. Of course I shouldn’t have been surprised to see his wife. I stammered for a bit, then remembered that talking about people’s pets is usually a safe thing to do. “He’s quite a dog,” I said. “He makes about two of my dog and she’s not small.”

  “He’s eating us out of house and home,” the woman said. “But my husband insists we need him for protection. Some protection. He barks a lot, but I don’t think he’d ever bite anybody.”

  “At least he scares people. My dog doesn’t even bark. A burglar could steal me blind and she would just watch and wag her tail. My name is Lillian Morgan, by the way. Professor Morgan. I knew your daughter slightly and I wanted to come and tell you how sorry I am about what happened.”

  “I’m June Hoffman. Where are my manners? Come on inside out of the rain.”

  At least the rain had helped me gain entrance to the house. As I walked toward the door I could see the dark circles under her eyes. It looked as if she had been crying recently. She wore dark clothes. As she led me inside she said, “Usually, I would be working, but I just couldn’t face it the day after Elise’s funeral. In fact, I haven’t been to work since last Wednesday.”

  “I’ve met your husband,” I said, trying to revise my approach to Mr. Hoffman to suit the current circumstances. “In fact, I talked to him early last week.” Actually, on the day Elise had been murdered, but I didn’t mention that.

  “Well, he’ll be glad to see you. He’s really broken up about this.”

  She took my wet coat and hung it on a hanger. We left the umbrella open in the entry. I took a handkerchief from my purse and blotted some of the water on my face so I didn’t look so much like a drowned rat. As we entered the living room I spotted Mr. Hoffman sitting down, his cane leaning against his chair. A book lay unopened on the table beside him, with a bookmark in it. He started to get up when he saw me, but remembering what a struggle this was for him I said, “Please don’t get up, Mr. Hoffman. I just wanted to come by to tell you how sorry I am about Elise.”

  Mr. Hoffman relaxed his efforts and said, “Please sit down, Mrs. …I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “Professor Morgan,” Mrs. Hoffman said. “You’ve met her before.”

  She said this the way one would speak to somebody whose memory was impaired.

  “Morgan,” Mr. Hoffman said. Yes, that’s it. But I didn’t know you were a professor.”

  Mrs. Hoffman went into the kitchen to make some coffee.

  “I’m a retired professor,” I said. “I met Elise after we talked last week. She was a lovely young lady.”

  Mr
. Hoffman choked back what sounded like a sob and couldn’t talk for a few seconds so I continued, “We had a nice chat.”

  “What day was that again?” Mr. Hoffman asked.

  What should I say? I couldn’t lie because, after all, I was part of a murder investigation and anything I said could be used against me. “It was Wednesday, I believe,” I said, as if I had just remembered.

  “The day she was killed.”

  “In the afternoon.” Meaning not in the evening.

  “You were going to get her to help you talk to other girls at the college about why they shouldn’t become strippers.”

  There was nothing wrong with his memory. Mrs. Hoffman brought in a tray containing coffee paraphernalia and cookies. We went through the ritual of pouring coffee and adding cream and sugar—although I drink my coffee black—while I tried to plot my strategy. After a couple of bites of a sugar cookie I decided I should get to the point.

  “I owe you an apology. I didn’t level with you last week. When I came here I was actually trying to track down Elise because of…well, because of the sexual harassment charge she made.” That was as close to the truth as I could get without saying I had suspected Elise of being the Shooting Star.

  Their expressions were pained, as if this was one just more thing they had to cope with.

  “We never knew about that…before,” Mrs. Hoffman said. “She never told us.”

  “What is your connection to the harassment thing?” Mr. Hoffman asked in a guarded manner.

  I had gone this far. “I’m a friend of Dr. Pappas.”

  They both looked stunned.

  “But he’s the man who killed her,” Mrs. Hoffman blurted.

  “He harassed her,” Mr. Hoffman added. “If he ever shows his face here I’ll let Monster loose on him.”

  My minutes here were numbered unless I could make a breakthrough. I said, “When I talked to Elise she told me she was sorry that she had filed the charge. And then she left me a message for me saying that she was going to withdraw it.”

  “But why would she do that?” Mr. Hoffman asked. “My baby wouldn’t accuse anybody falsely.” He grasped his cane and looked as if he was about to get up.

  “Your daughter and Dr. Pappas are both good people,” I said, hastily. “I can assure you about Dr. Pappas because I’ve known him for quite a while. They are also both charismatic and attractive people. It’s not inconceivable that they were attracted to each other. In a case like that, a professor and a student, things can get confusing. Elise may have gotten confused.”

  “Are you insinuating that Elise was agreeable to whatever happened between them?” Mr. Hoffman leaned forward on his cane. “She’s engaged to another fellow.”

  “She’s not engaged to him yet,” Mrs. Hoffman said. And more softly, “Now, she’ll never be engaged to anybody.”

  “I don’t know exactly what happened between them,” I said. “We’ll probably never know. But I can tell you this: Dr. Pappas did not kill Elise. He was lost on Mt. Mitchell when she died.”

  “I read that cock-and-bull story in the newspaper,” Mrs. Hoffman said. “He’s got no witnesses. And his face was scratched. How did he explain that?”

  The local newspaper had found out about Mark and done an article on him. “Elise didn’t scratch him,” I said. “He fell on the mountain. There was no skin under her fingernails and they had not been broken. They had fresh nail polish on them.” I had read the newspapers too. “Look, we can help each other because we want the same thing. We both want to find out who killed your daughter.”

  “Whether or not he actually killed her, if you’re representing a rapist, I want you out of this house,” Mr. Hoffman said, straining to rise from his chair.

  “Sit down, Eric.”

  The sharpness of the command caused Mr. Hoffman to fall back into his chair. He and I both looked at Mrs. Hoffman.

  “Getting rid of the professor won’t make the problem go away,” she continued. “She’s right; we want to see justice done. If she can help with that we should support her.”

  “Call me Lillian,” I said.

  “I’m June. He’s Eric.”

  “Let me tell you what I know. I’ll try not to gild the lily. Something happened between Elise and Dr. Pappas and she filed a charge of harassment. She had decided to withdraw the charge before she died. Now it’s true that Dr. Pappas didn’t know that, but I’m convinced that he was many miles from here that evening. Although his teaching career could have been ruined by the charge, I’m also convinced that he would never kill anybody.”

  I stopped, expecting a reaction from June or Eric, but they looked attentive and said nothing. I continued, “If Dr. Pappas didn’t kill her, somebody else did. It’s the job of the police to investigate all possibilities. Maybe we can help them. They think it was somebody who knew Elise because there is no sign of a burglary. Nothing was taken. Isn’t that right?”

  “We don’t know of anything,” June said. “Her purse was there, with money and credit cards and all the stuff young people seem to need these days. It didn’t look like anything else had been touched. And Donna—that’s her roommate—said her own stuff was all there.”

  “Let’s talk about the people who knew her. First, as you said, is her roommate. She found Elise.”

  “Donna is a nice girl,” Eric said, accenting “nice.” “She wouldn’t hurt a fly. In fact, she wanted to help Elise with her singing.”

  “Donna wrote songs for Elise,” June said. “The words, not the music. When Elise was in the review last fall, Donna wrote the songs she sang.”

  “She wanted to do more of that,” Eric said. “She told me she pictured her and Elise as a team and she thought they could go far together. In a good way, of course. I don’t like a lot of what passes for modern music—rap and garbage like that. It’s junk, with terrible words, about sex and violence against women…killing cops, disrespect for authority. But Donna wrote nice words. I think she was a good influence on Elise.”

  “I didn’t know you had talked to Donna all that much,” June said.

  “She came here during the day, when you were at work. Just once or twice, of course.”

  “You never told me that.”

  “Didn’t I? Must have slipped my mind.”

  “It must have. What did you two talk about?”

  “I told you; we talked about the possibility of Elise and Donna teaming up after college. Donna would write the songs and Elise would sing them. They would be good songs, with Christian values, providing a positive influence on kids, instead of the junk they hear now.”

  “What did Elise think of this idea?” I asked.

  “She was open to it. I talked to her—Donna asked me to—and she said anything was possible.”

  “Elise had a good voice,” June said. “If I may say so she had an excellent voice, but that doesn’t mean she could have had a career as a singer. You know how hard it is to do that. I think she was realistic about it.”

  “So Donna and Elise got along well together,” I said.

  “Very well,” Eric said. “They’ve known each other since the beginning of Elise’s freshman year at Crescent Heights.”

  “I understand that Elise lived in a dormitory last year, even though your house is only a few miles from the college.”

  “She needed to spread her wings,” June said. “We don’t have all that much money and for a long time it looked like she would have to live at home and maybe go to community college. Or take on large student loans. But we’ve always been thrifty and we didn’t like that idea. But then this scholarship came through…”

  “Elise was the smart one in the family,” Eric said. “But she was awful young to live away from home. Maybe if she had been living at home, this would never have happened.”

  “And then there was her boyfriend,” I said, hoping to keep Eric from dissolving, which it appeared he might do.

  “His name is Ted,” June said. “He’s a nice enough boy, but he�
�s a bit of a wimp, if you ask me.”

  “Ted is no wimp,” Eric said. “He’s just got good values. He’s even gone out with me on patrol.”

  “That’s what I mean,” June said. “That’s a strange occupation for a 21-year-old. Do you know about this patrol business, Lillian?”

  “You mean the website and the license plates. Eric told me about that.”

  “He tells everybody who will listen. If you ask me, there are better ways he could spend his time. Such as earning some money.”

  “Nobody asked you, woman.”

  “How did Ted feel about the harassment charge?” I asked.

  “He didn’t like it, of course,” Eric said. “Who would? He knew about it before we did. Just like you. It seems like we were the last to know.”

  “Elise didn’t want you to go out and hunt down Dr. Pappas,” June said. “You’re so volatile.” She turned to me. “It isn’t all his fault. His leg pains him a lot. But as far as Ted’s reaction, I think that could be a problem. He was funny about things like that. He thinks everybody should be a virgin when they get married.”

  “Girls should be virgins when they get married,” Eric said.

  “Don’t get started on that,” June said. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  She quickly mentioned other peculiarities that Ted had. We chatted about Ted for a few more minutes, but I didn’t learn anything more.

  When that subject had exhausted itself I said, “How did you hear about Elise? Did the police come here in the middle of the night?”

  “Donna called,” June said. “It was awful. She was hysterical. I was here but Eric was out on patrol. I had been asleep. I have to get up early to go to work. What a phone call to receive when your husband’s not here.” She looked at him, accusingly.

  Eric looked guilty for a moment, but then he said, “It’s not my fault if the best pickings at the bars are in the late evening. But I agree it would have been better if I had been here. When I returned she was all collapsed on the couch. She could hardly tell me what happened.”

  “And then you went to Elise’s apartment?” I asked.