Murder at Cold Creek College

by Christa Nardi

  “Yeah, well, it seems like you and the detective are getting along pretty well,” Mitch teased. He winked and added, “I saw the two of you disappearing into the arboretum yesterday. Judging from the blush, I bet there’s a story there.” He winked and smiled while I felt the color rising in my face.

  “A nice walk is all,” I countered trying to maintain perspective and somehow control the warmth on my face.

  “Oh, and you both happened to be hungry, so dinner was convenient, right? Or were you trying to appease the staff at the Grill for the mess you and Kim made the night before?” he teased again.

  “My gosh, Mitch, how did you hear about it so fast? With the gossip mill around here working that fast, why can’t we figure out who killed Adam? And how could he be seeing multiple people without everyone knowing it?” I was too surprised he knew about the two incidents to even be embarrassed.

  He laughed and said, “I had my teeth cleaned this morning! Wayne was beside himself over seeing you and some man at the Grill. He described the detective and asked me who he was, and how long you had been seeing him. I told him it sounded like the detective, but then he of course put a different twist on the dinner. In the long run, I’m afraid you’re not off the hook. Sorry.”

  I must have looked horrified. Mitch continued, “No worry, I tried to put him straight, and pointed out that detectives don’t usually have dinner with suspects. It’s considered bad form. I told him I thought the two of you were becoming friends.” He smiled and gave me a questioning look.

  “I like him, Mitch. I don’t know where it will go, if anywhere. But I like him.” Not exactly a rave review, but an honest response. Well, except for the warm feeling and tingles, and the kisses last night, it was an honest response.

  “Hey, that’s what counts. Enjoy it. If it doesn’t work out, there’s always Wayne!” Mitch chuckled as he said the last part. He was well aware of the number of times Wayne had asked me out and I had declined. More than once he had suggested I find another dentist, even if it meant going to North Shore or Altavista. It would only be about 30 minutes away. I began to think it might be a good idea.

  “So where is our good detective this morning?” he asked, pretending to look under my desk or behind the door.

  “He said he was going back to the field office and would be back on Monday. At some point, Mitch, he is probably going to talk to students. Courtney was visibly upset yesterday, and then there’s the student I saw, and Max said something about a staff person at the rec center, also a student,” I said, feeling a bit deflated at the potential backlash it could cause.

  “He has to do his job, and it’s certainly beginning to look like Adam was a very busy man. That said, I am not sure students being upset is the same as his being involved with them.” Mitch shook his head and added, “Hopefully, he used something or we could be looking at a rash of STDs or pregnancies.” He shook his head again.

  I shook my head as well. We chatted a little more about the students and letting students know to come see us if they wanted to talk about Adam’s death or safety concerns. Between us, we probably had most of the psychology students and hopefully, they would also share the information. I offered to contact the dorms and let the staff there know as well. We had moved on to sports, baseball in particular, when Max showed up.

  “I can’t believe Jim did this to me! Doesn’t he know how valuable my time is? He expects me to teach a class for a month until this other guy comes in. And then I’ll probably have to help this Flatts guy! What about my research? I need to get some publications out and work on writing a grant. I hear there may be a position at Commonwealth or UVA. This is important. Doesn’t Jim know that I am the only one here who can actually do research and write grants?”

  Mitch interrupted his tirade and said, “Max, we all have to work together here. You are the best person to cover the Learning and Memory class. Maybe you can find some students in there to help you with your research.” This seemed to appease Max and appealed to his ego. He stood straighter and seemed to smile at the compliment.

  “Well, of course I am the best person to teach the course! And you’re right, maybe I can use this opportunity to get some free labor. But I am not taking any of those advisees. I have enough. Besides whatever the students do, I have to rewrite. Only Wesley seems to get it.” Max shook his head.

  “I don’t think you’re giving these kids their due. They are undergraduates, you know, not graduate students,” I suggested. The over-the-top expectations were a frequent theme with Max.

  “Well, I need them to be better students. If I’m going to advise them, they need to write a paper related to my research. They need to help me get to a Research university or at least one with a graduate program. This place is pitiful,” Max lamented.

  “Actually as an undergraduate college, Cold Creek is well respected. Across the college, our graduates get into pretty good graduate programs when they leave here. You may not be aware of this, but about 80% of the Cold Creek grads go on for an advanced degree,” Mitch offered. I hadn’t realized it was so high, but Mitch had, in the course of his long career, held a number of administrative roles at the College.

  “Well… I still can’t handle any more students and get my work done. And I am not going to babysit this graduate student, Flatts. Do you realize he hasn’t even graduated yet?” Max’s voice was getting louder again. His face was getting red and his fists were clenched by his sides. I was afraid for his health.

  “Max, calm down. Nobody has asked you to babysit anyone. As for his not graduating yet, he does have his Master of Science, and probably didn’t get his dissertation done in time to graduate yet. You never can tell, he might be a fellow researcher,” I offered.

  Most of us at Cold Creek College were not into research. Most of the time, we only engaged in research if a student initiated it as part of an honors thesis. Most of those students, though, were more likely to seek out Doug or Max, or until now Adam. Kim, Mitch, and I were more likely to be sought out if they were looking for a field-based experience or two.

  I realized I had no idea which camp the other faculty fell in. Priscilla and Mandy were still too new, so their advising load was light. Certainly neither had mentioned research interests, but then I was discovering I didn’t know the people I worked with very well. I wasn’t aware if Jack had any active research, but he tended not to blow his own horn. He was involved with the county Head Start. Students might seek him out if they were interested in that as a field experience. It was possible he also did research. Once again, I realized my interactions were pretty restricted, and mostly limited to Kim. Well, and then Max when he needed to vent and impress on others how much smarter and better he was.

  To change the subject, Mitch asked, “So, Max, who do you think killed Adam?”

  “I can’t believe what people are saying about him! He was apparently having affairs with several women, not to mention Kim Pennzel! And Katie was married to him! I think they all found out about him, and they banded together and beat him to death. Then they arranged for alibis, using each other. That’s probably why they still haven’t released the body. They’re trying to figure out how many people were involved. Do you think they castrated him?” he asked, very serious and wincing a bit at his last thought.

  Mitch did his best not to laugh. “That is a theory I hadn’t heard. You don’t think one of those women could have killed him? I mean, how would this whole band of women not be noticed by anyone else at the rec center?”

  Max continued, “Because one of the staff at the rec center was the inside person, and let them all in ahead of time, and then snuck them out. And there wouldn’t be any blood evidence on any of them because they could shower. Yup, that’s what I think happened. And if he was diddling all these women, well, he deserved it.” Max nodded his head vigorously as he explained his theory.

  Mitch was too busy trying not to burst out laughing, so I asked, “Max, did you share this theory with Detective McMann or Of
ficer Hirsch?”

  “That detective – I don’t know what you keep telling him, Sheridan. He keeps coming after me. I don’t care if Adam was whoring around. I think it’s downright gross. And I didn’t tell Officer Hirsch anything,” Max responded emphatically.

  Recovered somewhat, Mitch suggested, “But Max, the detective may not have come up with your theory. Don’t you think you should share your theory with him, you know, help the investigation?” Mitch’s eyes were twinkling and he was still having a hard time not laughing outright, but Max was oblivious.

  “Hmm. No, I want to stay far away from him. Sheridan can tell him. He gets information from her you know. He can take it from there if he wants to solve this murder. I already shared it with the police chief. That’s why I couldn’t be bothered talking to Hirsch,” he answered and walked away.

  Mitch signaled to close the door. Once it was closed, we both had a good laugh. It was kind of scary that Max had already shared his conspiracy theory with the police chief. Scarier still was that Chief Pfeiffe might believe it. We got more serious and pondered Max’s complete lack of feeling or empathy for anyone else. Being a psychologist, it was always tempting to assign diagnoses to people we met or worked with, at least amongst friends. After a while, we ran out of profound thoughts on Max’s behavior and Mitch went back to his office. As I had volunteered to do, I called each of the dorms and gave them my office location and phone number, as well as Mitch’s.

  I went down to Kim’s office and chatted with her a bit about her ordeal with the Chief. She looked better than she had yesterday. Her hair was combed, makeup in place. She seemed none the worse for wear, but not her old self. She asked about “my detective,” teased me a bit, and I related the incident with Wayne at the Grill. The story generated a good laugh. It was approaching lunch time, so I suggested we walk over to the Student Union to grab a bite and check in at the bookstore.

  The Student Union was swarming with students. In itself, with the renovations to the original building, it sprawled out in multiple directions. The cafeteria was on the second floor. We got into line, and talked about weekend plans, possibly catching a movie, or going into North Shore for some shopping. The line moved quickly and we got a table without any trouble.

  While we were eating, Misty joined us, with Kim making the introductions. We talked about the memorial and how shocking it was to have a murder on campus. Misty shared that things were pretty tense among the upper administration and the trustees. Her boss, Provost Dr. Banks, had been in meetings almost constantly since Monday afternoon and lots of voices were raised. Apparently the trustees seemed to think the Provost, the Chancellor and the President should have been able to prevent the murder. Given everyone knew at least part of Adam’s history, they might have had a point.

  We visited for a while. All three of us avoided talking about Adam and focused instead on the fallout from his death. I mentioned that the Chancellor’s wife seemed upset at the memorial, and Misty shrugged her shoulders. We all agreed the three of us didn’t exactly travel in the same social circle as the administrators and trustees.

  We talked about the movies playing and the proposed theatre group schedule, and then ran out of small talk. My first impression of Misty in person didn’t match the mental picture I had of someone who had been Adam’s wife. She was blonde and attractive for sure, but she didn’t seem flirty or shallow. She seemed fairly down to earth and likeable in fact. It still surprised me he had fooled so many women who were fairly stable and smart in other areas of their lives.

  We finished eating and Kim and I weaved our way to the bookstore. We needed to find out how badly they had messed up the book orders. Kim also had to check on the books Adam had ordered. Not surprisingly, he hadn’t done a syllabus, and she had created one similar to hers, but would have to adjust it to match the book he ordered. The bookstore was busy, with students in lines buying books and a few faculty members, like us, checking to be sure the books were in.

  Nothing was listed for Adam’s class and when we went to ask about it, we were told they never received an order from him. Usually it would have been a problem, but instead it simply meant Kim could use her syllabus for all three sections. She asked the bookstore manager to please order additional copies of her books on a rush order. I asked him to check on my backorder at the same time.

  That settled we walked back to our building and offices. I worked some more, adjusting the week’s assignments for the research design class as the students likely wouldn’t have books until at least mid-week. I was ready to head out, when a young man in uniform knocked on my door. He introduced himself as Officer Hirsch. Not quite 6 foot and looking like he worked out, the most surprising thing was how young he looked. I am not particularly fond of moustaches, but some facial hair would have added a few years.

  Officer Hirsch and I chatted briefly and scheduled an appointment for Monday. Then I was ready to leave. On my way, I stopped at Kim’s office and she was finishing up as well. We walked to our cars together and made tentative plans to take in a chick flick Saturday night.

  As I drove home, I realized it had been a very stressful week. All I wanted to do was sit with Charlie and watch some television, or do anything else that wouldn’t require a whole lot of thought. I stopped and got some groceries without event. I took care of feeding and walking Charlie and fixed myself a low fat frozen entrée. Then I settled down for the night.

  Chapter 8

  I woke up early the next morning. I followed my usual routine, let Charlie out and fixed a cup of coffee and some cereal. Then I cleaned out my gardens and got the beds ready for fall planting for about an hour or so. It wasn’t quite September but the air was crisp and cooler than it had been. Gardening to me is therapeutic and calming and I felt better getting my hands in the dirt.

  I noticed a few of my neighbors were doing the same thing. I waved to Julie, the neighbor on my right, and she stopped her gardening to come over. She asked about the murder and how I was doing. We chatted a bit about increased violence and then we both got back to gardening.

  I kept track of time because I had to be at the beauty salon by 11 o’clock. An old habit from childhood, I always took the extra effort to look good for the first day of school. In this case, because I would see different students on Monday-Wednesday-Friday than on Tuesday-Thursday, I actually had two first days. I stopped gardening, took a shower and was right on time to the salon.

  The plan was to get my hair styled and cut. Of course after the gardening, my nails were in bad shape, so a manicure and pedicure made perfect sense. All in all, about two hours of spoiling myself. The salon was in the center of town, and I had a short wait. I didn’t know any of the other customers by name. I pulled out my eBook reader to catch up on some leisure reading while I waited, but I couldn’t help but hear some bits and pieces of comments as I waited.

  “It’s just awful you know, the murder of that teacher at the college. My granddaughter is a student there and often works out at the rec center. My daughter was thinking about getting a membership somewhere else, but there’s no other club here. That college has a monopoly on being healthy and fit,” one older woman ranted.

  She had a point. A town as small as Cold Creek couldn’t support two fitness centers. Besides, the cost for community members to use the rec center was more reasonable than the fitness center in North Shore or Altavista.

  “Did you know the teacher who was killed? I saw his picture and I think I’ve seen him around town,” Chloe commented to the woman whose hair she was cutting. I was waiting for Chloe, so I was sitting close by and couldn’t help but hold my breath as I waited for the customer to answer.

  “Oh, yes. I knew him and I knew about him. He had quite a way with the ladies, if you get my drift,” the woman answered. She looked to be my age or maybe a few years older. I had to wonder if she was another of his many conquests. She was a brunette though, like me, and Adam had seemed to focus on the blondes.

  “I didn’t k
now. What was he like?” Chloe asked. Chloe, like most hairdressers, tried to hold a conversation while she cut hair. Her part of the conversation was generally asking questions, and it occurred to me she probably was a fountain of information as a result.

  “A charmer that man was. He could walk into the country club and every woman in the room noticed him. I remember when he came to Cold Creek. He was married to some other teacher, I think. He was like a bee pollinating though and the flowers never seemed to care,” she continued. The way she talked about it in the third person suggested that she, like me, was not one of his ‘flowers’.

  “I had no idea,” Chloe answered.

  “Oh, yes, he was quite the social one, and I understand he was also quite the cook. Apparently he at one time thought about being a chef,” she added. “Many of my acquaintances raved about his cooking. Well, his cooking and other attributes.” This was news to me. That might explain why no one seemed to be able to say who he was seeing. He entertained in his home and he even cooked the meal.

  “Did you go to the memorial?” Chloe asked next.

  “Oh, no, a bunch of us who knew him went out and had our own memorial service. We shared a few stories. Honestly, I think some of them were pure fantasy. We had a few drinks in his honor. He was too much of a ‘good times’ guy to want anyone to mourn him. The only bad thing was he refused to share his recipes.” She looked in the mirror and then added, “You did a good job, Chloe, thanks.”

  The woman got up from the chair, gave Chloe a tip, and went to pay her bill. I didn’t recognize her, but then I didn’t often find myself at the country club. I did find it mind boggling to imagine this group sharing stories about his dinners or whatever other attributes. It made me wonder if Adam was the only one putting notches on his bedpost. I guessed if you don’t work, you can get pretty bored. Or maybe the woman was right and parts of the stories were embellished.