The phone rang. “No comment.” Victoria hung up.
“I suppose you’ve been getting that all afternoon.”
Victoria nodded. “Thackery went to the police barracks. Won’t you have a seat?”
“Thanks.” The man sat in Victoria’s usual chair and leaned back. “Hear you found a fourth victim.”
“I’m afraid we have no comment.” Victoria smiled.
He laughed and crossed an ankle over his knee. He was wearing well-worn boat shoes with no socks. He studied her with unsettling eyes. “Victoria Trumbull. I like your work.”
“Thank you.” She felt quite girlish under the scrutiny of this attractive man. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“No reason to. Name’s Wellborn Price.” He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, and held out his hand.
They shook.
“I’m delighted to meet you, Dr. Price. You’ll be one of our professors, won’t you?” Victoria felt quite at ease talking to one of her fellow professors.
“Adjunct professor.” Wellborn grinned, showing slightly crooked front teeth. “That is, if I pass the introductory education course Professor Bigelow insists I take.”
Victoria flushed. “That’s degrading.”
“That’s Bigelow.” His grin broadened. “But understandable, given the personality involved.”
“Even I know something of your reputation as an economist and educator.”
Another call. Another no comment.
Wellborn sat back again, crossed his legs, and grasped his ankle. “I certainly don’t need the job, Mrs. Trumbull. But I would enjoy tweaking that pointed nose of our little Professor Bigelow.” He pinched his own rather grand nose. “Bigelow’s convinced I’ll refuse to go along with his game.” He smiled again. “Might be fun sitting through that course with those eighteen-year-old freshmen women.”
“Can’t you appeal to the university?”
“I won’t lower myself. I could tell Wilson to hell with it. Or I could keep in mind that Thackery Wilson, despite his shortcomings, is doing his best to bring higher education to the Island.” He slapped his ankle. “Yes, I plan to take that course.”
The door opened and Thackery stalked in along with the raucous sound of the katydids.
Wellborn Price stood and they shook hands.
“God, Price, I’m sorry.” Thackery tossed papers he’d been holding onto his desk.
“Don’t be. Not your battle. Bigelow and I go way back.”
Thackery stepped over to Linda’s desk, wheeled her chair over, and sat. “The female member of the oversight committee, Dr. Wieler…”
“Dedie. Yes. A remarkable woman. Brilliant engineer. Know her well.”
“She informed the freshman ed teacher of the situation.” Thackery leaned forward, hands on his knees. “According to the teacher, if you’re amenable to delivering an hour-long lecture to the class on the latest methods for teaching economics to non-economists, that would more than qualify you for an A-plus in the course.”
Wellborn laughed and got to his feet. “That’s all I needed to know, Thackery. Thanks.” He bowed to Victoria. “You see, Mrs. Trumbull? I’m not alone in my feelings about our Professor Bigelow.”
* * *
After the door closed behind Wellborn Price, Victoria yielded Thackery’s seat to him and took her usual chair.
Thackery straightened his desk calendar. “Were there any calls while I was gone?”
“Several wanting to know about the body we found.”
“Ghouls,” said Thackery.
“Have they identified the third victim? I hope it wasn’t another member of the oversight committee.”
“That mongrel of Walter’s is an embarrassment.”
“Brownie has some endearing qualities. What about the third victim?”
“A sociology professor at Florida State named Geoffrey Merriman. He was vacationing on the Island.”
“Didn’t his family report him missing?”
“He and his wife were separated,” said Thackery, fiddling with papers on his desk. “This yours?” He held up the Packer’s Fuel Oil envelope.
“That’s this week’s column for the Enquirer.”
He passed the envelope to her.
“Another college professor,” she mused. “Didn’t his university miss him?”
“He was on sabbatical.”
Victoria tapped the envelope on the arm of her chair. “So sad. No one missed Professor Bliss. No one missed Professor Cash. No one missed this third victim.”
Thackery nodded. “Professor Merriman.”
“Where was he staying?”
“Smalley’s trying to locate the place, but it’s a cold trail.”
Victoria shook her head. “Three college professors. Two different universities. What’s the connection, I wonder.”
“They were probably on someone’s tenure committee,” said Thackery, with a fleeting smile.
CHAPTER 13
Classes at Ivy Green started up again despite the ongoing disruption of police work. Now that their magic circle under the oaks had become a crime scene, Victoria’s poetry class moved into Catbriar Hall. It had been five weeks since the body of the unfortunate Professor Bliss was found. Only an occasional reminder drifted into the room when the wind eddied from the northeast.
On Tuesday, Jodi stopped to pick up Victoria, who was waiting at the top of her steps. Jodi had cut last Thursday’s poetry class.
October brought the blush of Island autumn, a pastel canvas, unlike the daring scarlets and yellows of the mainland.
“Such a glorious day,” said Victoria, climbing into the front seat of the Jeep.
“Yeah.” Jodi shifted into gear and headed down the drive. She was wearing a green T-shirt that read ISLAND GROWN and jeans so worn that in places only the warp threads held the cloth together.
“I’m glad you haven’t dropped out of the graduate degree program,” said Victoria. “Are there any new developments in your plans for publication?”
Jodi glanced at Victoria but said nothing. A car passed by on the road heading from Edgartown.
“Has Roberta submitted your paper to the journal?”
Jodi looked both ways and turned left onto the road. “She submitted the abstract of my paper under her name.”
“And?”
“The journal agreed to publish her paper, contingent on its meeting the deadline and all publication requirements.”
Victoria was silent.
They turned onto Old County Road and passed the Granary Gallery. While she waited for Jodi to say more, Victoria gazed out at the dead oak trees on either side, killed by a two-year plague of hungry caterpillars.
“Is there any possibility publication can be held up?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Again, I’m sorry, Jodi. You were right. I should never have spoken to Roberta Chadwick.”
“I thought I was so lucky to have her for a thesis advisor.” Jodi sighed. “She’s nothing but a scheming, conniving bitch.” They were both quiet as they slowed for the school zone. “She pretended to be so interested in my work. All the time she was setting me up.”
They passed the school before either spoke.
“Did you tape your deaf-mute interviews?” asked Victoria.
“I taped some. Mostly took notes.”
“You have the notes, don’t you?”
Jodi nodded.
“It seems to me you have legal recourse.”
“In a normal world, I guess,” said Jodi. “The academic world is not a normal world.”
“Stand up and fight.”
“Look at me, Mrs. T.” Jodi took a hand off the wheel and gestured at her snake tattoos, nose stud, eyebrow rings. “People see me and they think troublemaker. If I challenge my professor, who’re they going to believe—her? Or me? I’m gonna need, like, recommendations and her support and her networking, you know?”
“I know a lawyer who would represent you pro b
ono.”
“You don’t get it, Mrs. T. Let’s say I win. You think she’ll help me after that? Look at what happened after you tried to talk to her. She submitted the abstract to the journal under her name. Please, Mrs. T, I asked you before and you didn’t listen. Please, please, please,” Jodi underlined each word by pounding on the steering wheel. “I don’t want your help.”
* * *
Dedie Wieler strode into the office of Dr. Harold Harriman, dean of the engineering school at Cape Cod University that same morning and stood in front of his desk.
“I don’t want Hammermill Jones on my tenure committee. He’s a misogynist.”
Dean Harriman sat back in his leather chair and steepled his fingers. “You’re overreacting, Dedie.”
“He’s in business administration. He knows nothing about engineering. He can’t possibly evaluate my work.” Dedie leaned over, her hands flat on his desk.
He moved his chair back and ran a hand over his short hair, cut the way he’d worn it in the Corps of Engineers. “The university looks for balance in our tenure committees. Professor Jones gives the committee that balance.”
“Oh, baloney!” said Dedie, standing up straight.
Dean Harriman removed his steel-framed spectacles. “Hysteria doesn’t suit you, Dedie.”
“I’m not being hysterical!”
“Calm yourself.” Dean Harriman studied the lenses of his glasses. He opened his desk drawer and took out a tissue. He breathed on the lenses and methodically polished them with the tissue, then dropped it into his wastepaper basket.
Dedie took a couple of deep breaths, her hands tightly fisted, while the cleaning of the glasses was going on. “Do you call male faculty members hysterical?”
“Please,” said Dean Harriman, holding up a hand to stop her. “We don’t need a diatribe on feminism.”
“This has nothing to do with feminism. And it’s not a diatribe. It’s okay, isn’t it, for my male colleagues to come in here and rage and say shit and fuck…”
“Dedie,” said Dean Harriman. “Watch your language.”
“It’s not my language. I’m just down the hall. I hear them say goddamn, hell, fuck, and shit. As do you, Harry.”
He cleared his throat. “I prefer to be called by my title, Dedie. Dean Harriman.”
“The guys call you Harry and you call them Frank and Joe and Bill.”
“That’s quite enough, Dedie.”
“When you call me Doctor Wieler, I’ll call you Dean Harriman.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her. “I don’t make deals with junior faculty.” Dean Harriman stood.
“Don’t dismiss me, Harry,” said Dedie. She was a good five inches taller than he was. “I want you to get Hammermill Jones off my tenure committee.”
“Are you sure you’re ready for tenure, Dedie?”
“Ready!” sputtered Dedie. “Seven years in this department. I’ve brought in more grant money over those seven years than all the members of the engineering department combined.” She folded her arms and looked down on him. “Not one member of the department has more publications than I do. I’ve been cited by the community for my engineering advice for the new high school. My students have given me the highest scores an engineering faculty member ever received at Cape Cod University. And you question whether I’m ready for tenure?” She pointed a stiff finger at him. “And you let that ignorant bigot sit on my tenure committee to judge me?”
“I suggest you leave now, Dedie, before you lose control completely.” Dean Harriman walked around his desk and opened his office door. “When you’ve had a chance to calm down, I’ll be happy to discuss matters with you.”
Dedie stared down at him. After a moment, she brushed past him, stalked down the hall to her office, her head up. She shut the door behind her, careful not to slam it.
* * *
Catbriar Hall’s transformation from garage into classroom had given the building windows on both sides with a view of the parking lot on one side, trees on the other.
After class, Jodi, Victoria’s chauffeur, had gone to Cronig’s to buy her week’s groceries. With four boys, a week’s worth of groceries would take time to assemble. Victoria was using the time to plan her next class session.
She glanced out the windows toward the trees and saw a young man with snowy-white hair approaching. When he came through the door, she was stowing papers in a manila folder.
He was tall, about Elizabeth’s age, she guessed, maybe older, in his early forties. He had far-seeing blue eyes and a deep tan that contrasted nicely with his sun-bleached hair. He looked vaguely familiar.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Is Jodi Paloni around?” A deep voice.
“She’s doing errands and should be back soon. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“You’re Victoria Trumbull, the poet, aren’t you?”
Victoria smiled. “Yes.”
“I’ve wanted to meet you since I was a kid.” He held out his hand and she shook it. “My name is Price Henderson. Jodi Paloni and I are two of Professor Roberta Chadwick’s Island advisees and I was hoping to talk with her about a problem we both seem to be having.”
“I believe I understand. Won’t you have a seat until Jodi gets back?” Victoria picked up her folder.
Price Henderson swiveled a chair around so he faced her and sat down, his arms resting on the chair back.
After a few moments of silence Victoria asked, “What are you studying?”
“Sociology. I’d been planning on a career in counseling and thought I needed an advanced degree.”
“‘Had been’?” Victoria held the folder upright. “Has Professor Chadwick done something to change your mind?”
“I guess you’ve spoken to Jodi.”
“Well, yes. We’ve spoken.”
“No point in repeating what she’s told you.”
“I assume you’ve done some research and are, or were, about to publish it?”
He nodded. “A paper on the sociological consequences of an adoptee’s search for birth parents.”
Victoria said, “I’ve talked with another of her students, as well.”
“Christopher Wrentham?”
She nodded.
“Professor Chadwick is out of control,” said Price, shaking his head. “Someone’s got to stop her.”
“I’m afraid I tried and made things worse for Jodi.” Victoria tucked a paper back into her folder.
“I heard about that.” He gazed out the window at the yellow crime scene tape strung around the dug-up site of Brownie’s discovery. “They’ve really made a mess out there, digging up the whole campus like that.”
Victoria nodded. “Most unfortunate.”
He looked back at her. “I’m like Jodi. I can’t afford to antagonize our faculty advisor either.”
“Do you know the third student?”
“Christopher Wrentham. Never met him. No idea what he’s like.”
“He’s willing to take this to court. He claims he has nothing to lose.”
Price shook his head. “Won’t do any good. I tried going to the grievance committee, or whatever it’s called. They met with her. She put up a good defense. They cleared her and now she’s got it in for me. Jodi, too.”
CHAPTER 14
Ever since Price Henderson walked through the door of Catbriar Hall, Victoria had pondered why he looked familiar. Now it came to her. Wellborn Price, of course, the economist.
Victoria looked up again at the young man sitting in front of her. According to Thackery, Wellborn Price had fathered a son by the daughter of his tenure professor. The young man sitting before her resembled Dr. Price, and was the right age. And, furthermore, was named Price.
“Is Price a family name?” Victoria asked.
“My mother told me she named me Price because she paid a high price for me, and I was worth it.” He leaned his chin on his arms, folded now on the back of the chair. “I have to live up t
o that. I was the result of a serious fling she had with someone my grandfather didn’t approve of.”
This was not the time to pry. Victoria was quite sure she knew something about this young man’s background that he, himself, didn’t know. “Jodi should be along any minute.”
He glanced at his watch. “I don’t mind waiting.”
“Are you taking courses with Jodi?” Victoria asked.
“I’ve never met her. Our only connection is our advisor, Roberta Chadwick.”
“Your thesis subject is interesting.” Victoria looked up and saw that he was watching her closely. “It wasn’t long ago that adoption authorities believed they were doing the right thing by making it impossible for children to reconnect with their birth parents.”
“I’m glad that’s changed.”
“I gather your research is firsthand?”
He nodded. “I know my birth mother. It’s my birth father I don’t know. I’ve been searching for information about him.” After a moment, he went on. “My adoptive father, John Henderson, married my mother when I was five. He’s the only father I’ve ever known. A real loser.”
“What about your mother’s family?”
“My grandmother died when my mother was a young girl. When my grandfather learned she was pregnant with me, he whisked her off to Turkey, where he’d accepted a teaching position.”
“Didn’t your mother have any brothers or sisters? Your aunts and uncles?”
“She has an older brother. She’s been estranged from him since he learned she was pregnant.”
“What have you learned about your birth father?”
“I was told he was killed in an automobile accident. That’s what I’m trying to track down.”
Victoria looked down at her folder. She’d torn off a corner without thinking.
Price said, “When I was four or five, my mother and I returned to the States and that’s when she met and married John Henderson. They’ve been divorced for years now.”
“I’m sorry,” said Victoria. “Did she and your grandfather ever reconcile?”
“She refused to have anything to do with him. He stayed in Turkey and died there. I don’t remember much about him.”
How sad to be estranged from family, Victoria thought. She had lost her own father when she was three, and her mother took the only job she could find, a governess job off Island. But Victoria had lived with her doting grandparents and aunt, and her mother had written her weekly letters full of funny drawings. She glanced out the window and saw Jodi’s Jeep pull into the parking lot. The car door slammed and she realized she had to ask a quick question before Jodi appeared. “Have you ever heard of a Dr. Wellborn Price?”
Poison Ivy Page 9
