by Liz Bradbury
“Oh, um, yeah, Maggie, howya been,” he said mechanically. He was wearing a dark brown down jacket that came well below his waist. With no hat, he had maraschino ears. His breath puffed clouds of steam that fogged his glasses. He’d shoved his cold hands into his pockets. Instead of gesturing with them while he talked, he moved them inside his pockets, pulling his jacket askew with each phrase he wanted to emphasize. He looked up and down the street saying absently, “This really has been a tough week hasn’t it? I was just thinking about Bart and Georgia... and Carl. You gonna be at that thing for Carl tomorrow?”
“Yes, I’ll be there. You?”
“Oh yeah, sure.” He looked around again distractedly, making idle small talk. “Ha... I can’t remember where I parked, must be up the block. I guess I’m more shook up than I thought, you know? Oh, there it is. He focused on a SUV farther along College Street. “Hey, what are you doing on Campus anyway?” He’d gotten back some of his bluff personality.
“Just checking some things. Dr. Getty, may I ask you something? Two things actually.”
“Oh yeah, sure.”
“First, do you remember where you went after leaving Skylar Carvelle’s office on Thursday morning?”
“Thursday, Thursday.” Jacket twist, jacket twist. Then with shock he recalled, “That was when Skylar was killed!”
I nodded.
“Oh, well, um I... I went back to my office and then I went home to have breakfast. You have to have a good breakfast, even if it’s late, right? I had an evening meeting with the admissions staff and I decided to take a little comp time beforehand, if you know what I mean.” Then he eyes widened, “Wait, you mean... you think I... whoa now, hold on.” His face got as red as his ears.
“Dr. Getty please, I’m just trying to confirm where everyone was.”
He paused, taking several deep breaths, steam rising in a jet from his nose. A car went up College Street. After it had gone by Leo Getty said less tightly, though his face didn’t get any less red, “Uh huh, that’s right. Yeah, I know, I’m sorry Maggie. I just feel bad about everything that’s happened. Skylar was my friend and Carl... I really miss him... Thursday, yeah, I called my secretary about some stats we had to file with the state.”
“About what time?”
“Just before I went back to the office. Maybe about 1:30.”
Not really a great alibi, but if he was innocent why bother to set one up?
“Dr. Getty, I went to Hadesville High School yesterday and I found out that Carl actually was thrown out of St. Bonaventure High School, not the public High School...”
“Yeah, so? Oh, I get it. I guess I said it wrong. Yeah, I’m sorry. I was so busy with the team in those days,” jacket twist, “it was hard to pay attention to other things. I stand corrected,” he laughed heartily. He seemed to be itching to slap me on the back. I took a small step backward.
“Just one more thing.”
“Shoot.”
“You left a message on Carl’s home answering machine saying you wanted to speak to him, and you asked him not to mention it to anyone else? Something about a grant? Do you remember what that was about?”
“Oh... yeah sure, it didn’t have anything to do with me... Carl was trying to get a grant as part of that satellite thing and I didn’t want him to mention it because, well, I didn’t want him to jinx it for the College. You know how it is, sometimes you talk about something and people get all excited about it and then it doesn’t come through and people get upset... truth is, I’d heard on the grapevine that Carl’s grant might not work out, never know how true that kind of info is, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Geez, it’s getting cold and it’s way dark, huh? I better be getting home.”
He smiled, said goodbye and walked across the street. I turned and headed for the Language Arts Building door, skipping up the stairs, then down the hall to room 208. The door was closed. I rapped twice and Kathryn’s extraordinary voice called out, “Who is it?”
“Emily Dickinson.”
Kathryn opened the door, grabbed a handful of my shirt, pulled me into the room, reached around my shoulder with her other hand and slammed the door shut. She pushed me up against it and gave me a kiss that made my toes curl. I did my best to keep up.
“So what does the Belle of Amherst have to say for herself?” asked Kathryn when we paused to catch our breath.
I recited:
Wild Nights — Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile — the Winds —
To a Heart in port —
Done with the Compass —
Done with the Chart!
Rowing in Eden —
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor — Tonight —
In Thee!
“Oh, very good,” she laughed. She was wearing her outdoor jacket unzipped, with a dark purple sweater under it. She looked wonderful, but kind of bundled up. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” she said holding me by the shoulders.
“What have you been thinking?” I whispered in her ear. She laughed, we kissed again, this time more slowly. The dull ache below my belt was becoming more acute by the second.
“Oh Kathryn, I want...” I began passionately, but then came to my senses. I said in a reasonable voice, “I’d love to roll around on the floor with you right at this very moment, driven by desperate desire... but it’s so damn cold in here! How could you stand this all afternoon? Klondike bars wouldn’t melt in this room! It’s colder than outside.”
“Terrible isn’t it? There’s a timer on the building heating system, it goes down to fifty degrees on the weekends. I have a little space heater under my desk that helps. I even got quite a bit of work done, but I am so cold. I feel like I’ll never thaw.” Her voice became lower, “If you take me someplace warm and give me something to eat, I’ll gladly do anything you want.”
“Anything?”
“Mm hmm.”
“Interesting dinner conversation topic... and it’s your turn to choose the place.”
“How about Casa Mexicana?
“I will take you there, where it is warm, and get you something to eat right now.”
She grabbed her knapsack, slipped the manual for Carl’s Voice Transcription program in it and we went quickly into the hall and down the stairs.
“How about taking my van and leaving your car here? My engine is warm, the heat will work right away.” I leaned to whisper in her ear, “I want to be able to have you in a warm place as soon as possible, because I want to see if later you really will do anything I want.”
“I’m very glad to hear your engine is warm, but have I placed my virtue in peril?” she said in a low voice.
“You certainly have,” I growled back. “Is it safe to leave your car here overnight?” I asked looking up and down the empty street.
“It’s as safe here as it is in the Hampshire parking lot. Probably safer. Campus security knows it. Hold on, I have some things I want to bring with me.” She opened the hatchback of her Mini Cooper and took out a garment bag. We got into the van and I turned on the motor, cranking up the heat full blast.
“Oh that’s wonderful,” said Kathryn putting both hands over the warm air vent. She looked up through the windshield, “Rats, I left a light on in my office.”
I could see it clearly. It was the only lighted window in the building, “I’ll go turn it off,” I volunteered gallantly.
“No, no, it doesn’t matter, it’s not dangerous. It’s the wall light, not a high intensity one or anything like that. I’ll call campus security and they’ll turn it off.” She was still looking up at the window, leaning forward slightly, with her chin tilted up, her graceful throat exposed.
“Kathryn, I’m so glad to be with you,” I said spontaneously. She reached over and touched my arm, sliding her fingers up to my face. We leaned across the space between the seats and kissed deeply. We both forgot about the li
ght in her office, which turned out to cause several serious problems later that night.
I drove down Liberty and across on 12th to my building. As usual, it was easier to park there and walk over to the restaurant.
La Casa Mexicana is an authentic Mexican restaurant just off the Mews on 11th Street, around the corner from Liberty. I put my arm through Kathryn’s as we walked together. She was still shivering.
“Tell me everything you did today,” I said as we walked to the Mexicana.
“Um, let’s see... Went to the Hampshire for something to wear to Carl’s service. Went to my office. Read two boring thesis proposals. Worked on some seminar notes. Called my brother Kiernan to say hi and Paul Erickson to talk about his grant. After that, I spent two hours reading Carl’s voice program manual, during which I nodded off twice and dreamed about you.”
“Sweet dreams?”
“Not exactly sweet, but certainly stimulating.”
La Casa Mexicana is a double 1890s row house that was rehabbed in the 1990s by the Estevez family into a restaurant, Mexican grocery and bakery. The restaurant wasn’t famous for fast service, just great food. Enticing smells wafted from the kitchen. We chose a small table in a corner.
“What did you do?” Kathryn asked placing her hand on top of mine, lightly tracing her fingers over my knuckles.
“I spent the whole day... imagining what it would be like later, when I have the chance to get you out of your... socks!”
“Oh no!” she laughed out loud then said, “I swear I didn’t know that was going to happen... it’s never happened before.”
“Oh, really? So all the foot massages women have given you in the past haven’t produced the same results?”
“You have the magic touch. I wonder if you’ll be able to do it again?” she winked at me.
“We’ll see,” I said just as Rafael the waiter appeared.
“Hola Maggie, como estas?” He handed us both menus.
Rafael doesn’t speak much English. I know him and the rest of the Estevez family well. He placed a huge basket of fresh tortilla chips and four kinds of homemade salsa on the table in front of us.
“Hola chico. Como estas? Por favor, conozca mi amiga. Ella se llama Kathryn Anthony. Ella es una nueva persona en la vecindad,” I said, introducing him to Kathryn and telling him she was new in the neighborhood.
“O, sí ella es tu nueva amiga la doctora, no?” said Rafael.
“Sí, pero quién le dijo eso?” I asked.
“Mariana me dijo. Que quieren comer? Quieren mas tiempo?” he said.
I turned to Kathryn and asked, “Do you know what you’d like, or do you want to see the specials?”
Rafael said, “Sí, los especiales,” and scurried off to get the small marker board he was supposed to have set up next to our table. We considered the choices.
Kathryn said, “I’ll have the Veggie Combo with the chile relleno, cheese enchilada, and chalupa.”
I ordered the Shrimp Fajitas with sides of nopalito salad and sweet fried bananas. I also ordered a Molcajete con Guacamole. Rafael went off to put in the order.
“Nopalito salad? And what was the special guacamole, molca...?” Kathryn asked curiously.
“Nopalitos are marinated cactus. They taste kind of like marinated roasted red peppers. A molcajete is a mortar made out of lava rock, they use it to make the guacamole and then serve it in the molcajete. It’s the best guacamole ever. I don’t know how they do it. Even Jessie can’t make it that way.”
“Is she a good cook?”
“Excellent.”
“What was Rafael saying to you? Something about me being a doctor? He spoke so rapidly, I can usually read Spanish fairly well, but...”
“It seems the nerve center of Mews gossip has done its job. I told Rafael you were a new person in the neighborhood and he asked if you were my new friend the doctor.”
Kathryn snorted, “Who told him?”
“Mariana. She’s the owner.”
“But how did she know?”
“Kathryn, it’s a small neighborhood, and the news runs through the women.” Rafael put the molcajete on the table and brought us a new basket of chips. Kathryn tried the guacamole and leaned back in delight. I loved watching her. I reached to hold her hand, but her cheerful expression began to fade.
“I have something to tell you.”
An uh oh flag waved in my brain. She was going to tell me something about herself that she thought would make me feel differently about her.
“Go ahead, Kathryn, nothing you can say will chase me away,” I reassured her. But that was a lie. After all, I knew very little about her and there were things that could make a difference. Hey, I’m not just being shallow, what if she told me she was... a member of the 700 club, or that she liked to hunt bunnies, or that she voted for...
She went on, “Last year, I was living in California and Irwin College was interviewing for Max’s position. The board wanted me to be in on some of the interviews. As it turned out later, Max ended up being the star candidate and since I knew him, I couldn’t be impartial...” she stalled, taking a sip of water, “anyway, I came here in the early spring. I sat in on some interviews. Then one evening I was asked to take some of the board members out to dinner. So... I brought them here.”
“Here to the Mexicana?” I asked.
“We sat over there,” she indicated a large table in another dark corner. “They were all corporate types. Big business, very eager to talk about high finance. Nothing that interested me, but they didn’t mind, they had each other to talk to.”
I nodded.
“So, I sat in the corner and I thought about my solo life, and... your friends Farrel and Jessie came in. Of course I recognized Farrel from the College. I could tell they were deeply in love and I felt a bit jealous of them. I was alone, wasting a Saturday night with three dull bureaucrats,” she paused and took another sip of water. “Then, you came. You hugged them and gave them a present. You laughed and congratulated them and at the end you picked up the check.”
The memory of that evening flooded in and I had noticed her briefly, sitting in the back corner. “I remember the night,” I said softly looking steadily into her eyes.
“You do?”
“It was Farrel and Jessie’s anniversary. But, this is your story, go on.”
“And you were alone too, so... I cast you in my fantasy,” she smiled self consciously, “and though I didn’t know you, I thought about you even when I went back to California.”
She went on, “I came back to Fenchester and suddenly there you were, in Max’s office. I wanted to know you. That’s why I went out to see you in the snow. But, I’ve made all sorts of assumptions that were unfair to make. I have to be honest with you...” she stopped and started again, “last night was wonderful, really wonderful, but if sex now and then is all you’re looking for, well, I can’t... I need...” she stopped talking and finally looked up at me.
She’d shown her vulnerable side. Not something an Ice Queen would ordinarily do. I gathered her hands in mine gently, “Kathryn, I’m so happy you’re telling me this, because my biggest fear in the last 24 hours was that you were going to pat me on the head, say: thanks that was fun, and disappear. I know things have to progress at their own pace, but if this can work out... Is it too much to ask you to go steady on the second date?”
She said brightly, beginning to relax, “This is our third date, if you count our night in the park, which you have artfully discerned was premeditated, at least by me... and yes, I’d be delighted to go steady with you. Do I get a sorority pin?” she asked smiling at last.
“I’ll think of something,” I smiled back.
Rafael brought a dozen dishes to the table and while we ate, I told Kathryn about my day. When I got to the part about Bart Edgar’s girlfriend Nancy, Kathryn said immediately, “He should marry her, did you tell him that?”
“Yup, first thing. Do you think we sound like Amanda Knightbridge?”
“Oh my,” she smirked, “what did she say to you? Did she say...”
“That we would...” I added.
“Complement each other?” we both said in unison laughing.
I went on talking about the day’s events. When I got to the part about Connie’s Yoohoo/Nehi confession, Kathryn’s face clouded at the Shel Druckenmacher blackmail attempt.
“That poor girl. She has far more moxie than I’d ever have thought. Do you think she was telling the truth about the whole thing?”
“Yeah, she’d have to have been Dame Judy Dench to have pulled off that story. I think she’s out of the running as a suspect.”
“Was she a suspect?”
“Trust no one...” I said in a low voice.
Kathryn laughed, “... but, really?”
“Sure. In some ways she was the best suspect because she had the best opportunity. Now it has to be that the person who set the fire bomb somehow had to manage juggling the extra bottle back to his or her seat without anyone noticing.”
“Is there anything you can do to stop Shel from bothering Connie?”
“Shel’s in jail,” I said idly as I carefully filled another flour tortilla with shrimp and some of Kathryn’s black beans.
“But how did..?”
I told her about the plan Arturo Murcielago roped me into and about the police coming to make the arrest.
Her fork clattered to her plate. “Shel tried to stab you?” she said flatly. She seemed angry. “You promised me you’d be careful.”
“Kathryn, please understand that a mostly drunk guy in a situation like that is not a big threat to me. I didn’t get hurt, I didn’t even get winded. I really wasn’t in any danger,” I explained calmly.
“Really?” she said doubtfully.
“Yes, really. I have a black belt in karate and ten times more hours in martial arts training than you probably spent on your dissertation. Believe me, I wouldn’t have done it if I’d been in danger. Trust me Kathryn, there are some physical things I can do quite well.”
