by Mary Angela
She rolled her eyes. “You know men. They hate change, but they’re totally persuadable.”
I laughed. “I’m on my way to the memorial. Do you want to walk together?”
She stood up. “That’s right! I’m supposed to meet Owen. I’m so glad you reminded me. Just let me grab my jacket.” She pulled on a North Face jacket that made her seem more like a student than a professor, and I was surprised by her lack of attention to her attire. She didn’t appear appropriately dressed for a memorial service. She must have forgotten.
We walked down the stairs toward Pender Hall in a slight drizzle that made the sidewalk slick. Out of earshot of her department chair, she spoke more freely of Owen’s new position. It sounded more like a probability than a possibility.
“Have you talked to their Women’s Studies Department?” I asked, pulling my suit jacket tighter. The wind really did make any kind of activity that much more strenuous.
“That’s the beauty of it,” said Ann. “I know the chair—Chelsea James. We went to school together at Columbia. She’s the one who got Owen his interview.”
“Nice,” I said. “It makes getting in that much easier.”
“Tell me about it,” she said, waving to one of her students.
We turned toward the mountain of steps leading up to the auditorium. They were slippery from the drizzle, and I held onto the handrail as we ascended. “I suppose you’ll miss climbing these stairs, for I’m certain they know what the Americans with Disabilities Act is. Perhaps they even make accommodations for it.”
Ann laughed. “I’m sorry to say I won’t miss it. I’m so tired of this small town; I can’t wait to get to the Cities.”
“I bet Owen will, though. Didn’t he go to college here?”
“God, yes. He loves it—his alma mater. But it will do him good to experience another campus. Otherwise, he’ll just get inbred. You know what I mean?”
I nodded, even though I didn’t. I empathized completely with Owen. I would stay here the rest of my days if God and the dean willed it. When people said change was good, all they meant was that change was good for them. And the change would certainly benefit Ann.
I wiped my heels on the mat of the landing as students moved past us in droves. I was surprised to see so many students here, and I wondered if they’d all known Austin personally. Ann held the door for me as we entered the auditorium, motioning toward the area reserved for faculty and staff.
“I guess we sit there. I don’t see Owen … do you?”
I scanned the rows of faculty members, but it was impossible to tell from this far away. I shook my head.
“I’m just going to wait here,” said Ann. “I’ll meet you down there in a few.”
“Okay,” I said and headed toward the first six rows of seats. I spotted Lenny in the second row. He was wearing a classic brown-checked blazer and royal blue tie, and if I didn’t know better, I would have said the tie was for me.
“Hey,” he said as I scooted in next to him. “I saved you a seat.”
“Thanks,” I said, meeting his eyes. “Not just for the seat, but for everything. I don’t know what I would have done last night without you.”
His eyes held mine a moment longer before he replied, “Of course, Em. I’d do anything for you.”
I inhaled sharply, the breath sticking deep in my lungs.
He leaned in confidentially. “This tie? It’s just the tip of the iceberg,” he said, flipping it over.
A smile spread across my face and his too. Then he sat back in his chair.
I looked around the auditorium to see who was in attendance. “Look who showed up after his late night.” I nodded in Alex’s direction. He was seated across the aisle in the first row.
“I think everyone’s expected to participate,” said Lenny.
“He certainly didn’t come of his own volition,” I said. “Look at poor Dan. He looks perfectly miserable sitting next to Alex.” Dan’s shoulders rounded just enough to make him look small and weak next to Alex, whose black sports jacket was at least a size forty-eight.
Most of the rows on the floor were filled, and fewer and fewer students were trickling in to the balcony. President Conner, a sagging man in his late sixties, came up to the podium, checked the microphone, and walked back toward the folding chairs on stage.
“He’s getting ready to begin,” I said, glancing toward the back door. “Where’s Ann?” She stood in the same place I left her, presumably waiting for Owen. He should have been here by now.
“There’s Owen,” said Lenny, motioning toward the corner of the stage, near the curtain.
“What’s he doing up there?”
Unlike Ann, Owen had not forgotten about the memorial. He was dressed in black from head to toe. “He’s talking to Austin’s mother,” I said. Austin’s stepfather was seated next to her.
Lenny looked baffled, but I didn’t have time to explain. “I’d better go get Ann.” As I stood up, though, I realized Ann had spotted Owen, too, for she was hastily moving toward the front of the auditorium.
Ann waved at Owen, trying to gain his attention. When she did, she motioned for him to sit down, and he walked off the stage, looking slightly dazed by all the people in the hall.
She sat in an end seat, two rows behind us. “Can you move down, Claudia? I don’t think Owen has a seat.”
Claudia looked around. “Of course,” she said, but there was obviously nowhere for her to move. There were no more seats in that row. She stood and found a seat several rows behind us, right next to Giles.
Making his apologies as he approached, Owen sat down slowly next to Ann.
“Is something wrong?” I heard Ann whisper. “Who is that?”
“No … I …. It’s someone I used to—”
Just then, President Conner began to speak, and I turned my attention to the stage. “Welcome students, faculty, and friends of Austin Oliver, a young man who had just begun his studies but had already proven himself an important part of our university. I want to extend a special welcome to the Olivers, Craig and Patricia, who had much to be proud of in their son Austin.”
Now it became obvious to everyone that these were his parents. His mother had the same wide cheekbones and tanned, kind face. She had the same youthful look of the outdoors about her. She was dressed in a long black skirt and blouse, and a sand-colored braid hung down the middle of her back. Austin’s father looked nothing like him. He was a small man with dark, thinning hair. One could tell because his head was inclined; his eyes, perhaps to hide his tears, never left the floor.
Patricia approached the podium at the president’s cue. “I agreed to speak for a few moments,” she began, “because I knew how important the university had become to Austin. It was a fresh start, a new beginning.”
When she spoke, I noticed she had the same tentative speech patterns as Austin. She wasn’t used to addressing a large group of people, yet she wasn’t exactly uncomfortable in front of a crowd. Her circle was smaller, as was Austin’s. That was all.
Patricia smiled briefly, but tears were beginning to form in her eyes. “It takes an enormous amount of courage to do something different, to be something different. Austin had that courage ….” She faltered then began again. “We are trying to have courage, too, to face these days without him. I hope we can count on you for your support.”
Applause thundered through the auditorium as row after row began to stand to show their support of this woman and their classmate, and I couldn’t have been prouder of our university than at that moment. I stood in solidarity with my colleagues, applauding her courage and wherewithal.
President Conner motioned for everyone to be seated so that the memorial could continue, but I couldn’t focus on any of the other speakers. All I could think about was a way to speak to Mrs. Oliver in private after the program. I knew there would be coffee and cookies, but perhaps I could pull her aside before the reception. After all, there was still a murderer at large on the campus.
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br /> I refocused my attention on the speakers as I saw Sarah approach the podium, a small sheet of white paper in her hand.
Lenny jabbed me hard in the side.
“I know,” I said. “I see her.”
All became clear within seconds, however, as I realized she was reading the eulogies composed by her creative writing class. She couldn’t have looked more beautiful in her black sweater dress and knee-high boots—or sounded more the part. Her voice had a quality meant for the stage; she was the consummate actress. When she was finished, she handed the paper to Austin’s mother as a memento from the student body, ending the memorial service with the perfect touch. President Conner said a few brief concluding words and directed everyone to the lobby for refreshments and fellowship, and the people on the stage, including the Olivers, vanished behind the side curtain.
“Blast it! I hoped to talk to her,” I whispered to Lenny. Students and faculty were out of their seats, in the aisles, and at the door. It was sudden chaos.
“It looks like you’re just going to have to wait. We’re not moving anytime soon,” said Lenny.
I stood up. “I’m going to see if I can find her. Wait for me at the reception.”
Lenny shook his head. “You’re never going to get through.”
I shimmed past coworker after coworker with “excuse me, pardon me, sorry” dropping from my lips. For Jane Lemort I saved an especially humble “I’m so very sorry” when I accidentally stepped on her foot, exposed by open-toed heels.
“Well I never!” was her response.
When I made it to the aisle, I walked quickly up the stairs, left of the stage, but all was quiet behind the curtain. I walked a bit farther, all the way to the back door, and peered out, but no one was there.
I turned back toward the stage and the crush of the auditorium; thankfully, it had cleared some. There were still several people mulling about by the doors, waiting for a break in the crowd. When none appeared, I made my way through with a few hectic motions. It was surprising how quickly people acquiesced when they thought there was some sort of emergency.
The smile on my face was short-lived as it met with the very stern brow of Detective Beamer. Immediately I affected an air of nonchalance, shuffling toward the reception area like a fifteen-year-old.
“Ms. Prather. What seems to be the emergency?”
“Huh?” I managed a yawn. “No emergency. Nothing at all.”
He crossed his arms, looking very much like a cop. “It didn’t look like nothing when you mowed down those kids.”
“Who, them?” I laughed. Now I was standing close enough to ask him a question. I leaned in conspiratorially. “Did you find out anything, about the gloves, I mean?”
He looked so serious in his wool jacket and hat that I wondered if my question would warrant an answer at all. Then he surprised me by quirking an eyebrow and whispering, “Did you find out anything about the gloves last night?”
Now it was my turn to be serious. I took a step back. “Well, no, I didn’t. You didn’t really give me a chance.”
“You were in the theater with the gloves for quite some time. I thought maybe you smelled something on them.” Now both of his eyebrows were arched and encouraging.
“Smelled?” I thought back to my time under the bed with the gloves placed on my chest. They didn’t smell bad; I would remember. Yet there was something about them, some particular smell. I squeezed my eyes shut, helping my memory along. It was almost pleasant …. My eyes flew open. “Ether! They smelled like ether!”
I clasped my hand over my mouth. Now Officer Beamer would know Sophie had told me about the ethylene chlorohydrin.
“Don’t worry, Professor. I had a feeling you knew more about Austin’s death than you let on last night, so I asked Sophie this morning if she had talked to you about the case. She admitted she had. And before you start making excuses for her,” he said, holding up his hand like a stop sign, “let me tell you that she wasn’t reprimanded.”
He smiled, and I knew Sophie would be fine.
“Does this mean … I know what it means.” I grabbed his shoulder, and he lowered his head to mine. “It means the gloves were the murder weapon.”
He touched the rim of his wool hat. “You have yourself a good day, Ms. Prather. I have a reception to secure.”
I stood open-mouthed, watching Beamer walk away. He had as much as told me what I wanted to know. That’s why the murderer was so desperate to get the gloves back. They weren’t just evidence; they were the weapon used to kill Austin.
I walked trance-like toward the reception, pulling each string together like a puppeteer preparing for the final act. It all began to make sense, all of it. My pulse quickened. If my deductions were all true, someone else was in danger, someone to whom I owed it to save.
I broke into a run, dodging students and faculty members alike. This time, I didn’t bother with apologies. I ran headlong down the hallway toward the main lobby. I quickly scanned the area and each freshly pressed white linen-clad table. President Conner and Mr. Oliver were near the front, several students were gathering at the dessert table, but Mrs. Oliver was nowhere to be found. I hesitated. Should I stay and keep looking, or should I go look elsewhere?
I saw Lenny getting a cup of coffee and yelled in his direction. This was no time for manners. “Lenny!”
Several others turned around as well as Lenny.
He hurried over. “Jesus! What is it?”
“Mrs. Oliver. Is she here?”
He shook his head. “No. I heard Conner say she stepped outside to get some air.”
“Let me know if you see her,” I said. “I think she’s in grave danger.”
I didn’t bother waiting for Lenny’s inevitable retort; I dashed out the door and toward the auditorium. I stopped, looking down each direction of the hallway. I heard voices—but where? Outside! They were coming through the double doors of the landing. I flung open the doors to reveal the stunned face of one of my students.
“Adam? What are you doing here?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could catch them.
“Professor Prather?” Adam said.
“Never mind. Have you seen a lady with blonde hair, a braid about down to here, and a long black skirt?”
He looked down the stairs and back at me.
“Well?” I said, stomping my foot.
“Professor, I think the woman you’re describing just fell down the stairs.”
I rushed onward and found Mrs. Oliver on the second landing, surrounded by at least a dozen students. Racing down the stairs, I nearly tripped on the slick, worn concrete. I grabbed the handrail just in time. “Is she breathing?” I called down. Several students nodded in my direction.
“Adam!” I called. “Go to the main lobby. Get Officer Beamer. Tell him Mrs. Oliver has been hurt!”
The students made way for me as I approached Mrs. Oliver. I bent down on one knee, checking for a pulse and found it. I looked around at their faces. “Who did this? Did you see anyone flee? In what direction?”
They all stared back at me blankly. A few shook their heads. A boy with glasses finally said, “I think she just tripped.”
Mrs. Oliver’s eyes began to flutter. Then she moved her hands as if trying to sit up. Her efforts failed dismally, and she stopped. Instead her lips parted, and she said, “I was pushed.”
I stood up, surveying the campus from the landing. A few students were scattered here and there; otherwise, there was limited activity. The rain was coming down more steadily now. I bent down and shielded Mrs. Oliver’s face with my suit jacket.
I heard the sudden push of the double doors and knew it was Beamer. “Down here!” I yelled.
“Is she alive?” he said, as he took the stairs two at a time.
“Yes. She says she was pushed. And I know who pushed her.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Beamer radioed to Sophie, asking her to secure the perimeter, then motioned for another officer to stay with
Mrs. Oliver until the ambulance came. We returned to the lobby, discussing the upcoming scenario. He was willing to go along with it if it would flush out the murderer; I assured him it would, and he was inclined to agree.
The lobby was relatively quiet, with students and faculty talking in hushed tones and sipping coffee or munching cookies. Thus when we entered with a loud clang of the double doors and rosy cheeks, all eyes were on us. All that was required to get their attention was to open my mouth.
“Officer Beamer and I have just come from the site of another unfortunate accident,” I proclaimed. With this announcement, several people glanced around as if for reassurance. I saw Giles put his hand to his forehead.
“It’s true,” said Detective Beamer. “Mrs. Oliver has fallen down the steps outside.” Several people gasped audibly, and some of the students began whispering. President Conner, who was standing next to Mr. Oliver, gestured for Mr. Oliver to sit down.
“It will come as no shock to one of you when I say Patricia Oliver’s accident just now was no accident at all. Like her son, Mrs. Oliver has had an attempt on her life made right here on this same campus—and by the same person.”
“What?” could be heard trickling through the whispers.
“Professor Prather, are you certain you know what you’re saying?” asked Dean Richardson.
Lenny wasn’t far from Dean Richardson. The look on his face told me to make sure I did before I opened my mouth in front of the entire faculty.
I nodded vigorously in Lenny’s direction. “Quite certain, Dean Richardson. If you let me continue, I’ll explain.” Since he didn’t raise any other objections, I proceeded. “It is not surprising, really. There are several reasons why one person would want to kill another: hatred, jealousy, fear, self-preservation. The human condition endures on strong emotions. Several people had reason enough to kill Austin, but only one of you did.”
I looked out at the sea of faces, all of them familiar and unsuspecting. It was hard to believe I was standing in the same room as the killer.
Sarah Sorenson was sitting next to her boyfriend, Sean, at the table directly in front of me. She was watching me with keen interest and was visibly surprised when I said her name out loud. “Sarah, by your own admission, you were the last person to see Austin alive.”
