“Sure. I guess everybody’s heard of him. He retired to the Vineyard, and is teaching an economics course here at Ivy Green.”
“I hope so,” said Victoria.
“I came to the Island hoping to meet him. I want to take his course. Price Henderson taught by Professor Price. I like that.”
Jodi breezed through the door. “Sorry it took so long. Oh, I didn’t realize you had someone with you.”
Price Henderson unwound his legs from the chair and stood up. “Jodi Paloni?”
“Yeah?”
He held out a hand. “I’m one of Professor Chadwick’s Island advisees.”
“Omigod!” Jodi seized his hand. “You’re not Price Henderson, are you?”
He nodded.
Victoria gathered up her papers and stood. “I suspect you two will want to talk.” She looked from one to the other eager face. “Don’t do anything rash.” She headed for the door. “I’ll wait in your car, Jodi. Don’t hurry. I have plenty to think about.”
* * *
The day after Dedie Wieler’s confrontation with the dean of the engineering department, she was in her office at Cape Cod University, pulling out her desk drawers and dumping them, one at a time, into a large cardboard box she’d picked up at the liquor store in the Falmouth mall.
Dr. Harold Harriman rapped on the side of her door and she looked up. He stood there, stiffly. “May I ask what you’re doing, Dedie?”
“I’m emptying my desk drawers, Harry,” she replied.
“Dean Harriman, Dedie,” he said.
“Right-o, Harry,” said Dedie.
Dr. Harriman came all the way into her small office, pulled up her lone guest chair, and sat down. “I have to tell you, Dedie, your attitude is a problem for me.”
“Is that right?” said Dedie, lifting her files out of the wide bottom drawer.
“I must ask again, what are you doing?”
“I believe I answered you the first time, Harry.”
“You understand, don’t you, that your tenure committee is meeting next week for a preliminary evaluation of your suitability for tenure?”
“Thanks for reminding me, Harry.” Dedie swept a jar of pencils and pens off the top of her desk. It hit the contents of the cardboard box with a rattle. She turned to her bookcase, and began to stack books into an empty Smirnoff box.
Dr. Harriman stood, his face flushed. “You must realize, Dedie, given your attitude, I can scarcely give you a hearty recommendation.”
“Thanks, Harry, but I don’t need or want a recommendation from you of any kind, hearty or not.”
He started for the door, turned before he went through. “I’ll ask you once more. What do you think you’re doing now you’ve told me you’re emptying your desk?”
“Leaving, Harry. I’ve accepted a position with Ocean Engineering, Inc. here in Woods Hole.”
“You’ll regret that decision, Dedie.”
“I don’t think so, Harry.” She finished filling the Smirnoff box, and with her foot shoved an empty Dewar’s White Label box under the last shelf of books.
“You’re a quitter, Dedie. Can’t stand the pressure.”
“You’re right, Harry. I’m quitting.”
“You’re giving up the prestige of academia, salary, benefits, tenure. Your future.”
Dedie brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I’ve accepted a salary that’s twice what you’re making. Four times what I’d make as a newly tenured professor. Benefits? You can’t begin to match Ocean Engineering’s. Tenure? No tenure, thank God.” She laughed. “So long, Harry. Tell the tenure committee to go fuck themselves.”
Dr. Harriman turned on his heel and in his most military manner beat a retreat.
Dedie thrust her middle finger in the air at his retreating back.
* * *
At the same moment Dedie was giving Dean Harriman the finger, Victoria’s phone rang. She answered.
“Mrs. Trumbull? This is Jodi.”
“Yes, Jodi. I’m glad we had a chance to meet Price Henderson yesterday.” Victoria pulled up a chair next to the cookroom table and sat down, thinking Jodi probably had a good bit to talk about.
“Me, too. I’d been trying to meet him, but he’s hard to reach. He lives on a sailboat.”
“Something I’ve always wanted to do,” said Victoria. “How can I help you?”
“I’m afraid I’m going to miss a couple of classes.”
“You’ve missed one already,” said Victoria. “You’re allowed only three cuts, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. But I heard about this weeklong sociology conference off Island, sort of short notice…” Jodi paused.
“If it’s a professional meeting, of course you can be excused,” said Victoria. “Are you going with Roberta?”
“I’m not positive I’m going yet. I have to make arrangements and stuff…” Her voice trailed off. “Budgets, you know…”
“I can give you additional assignments. Then whether you go or not, you’ll be covered.”
“That would be great, Mrs. T. Thanks! Bye!”
“You haven’t answered…” said Victoria, but Jodi had disconnected. I hope she decides to go, thought Victoria. She needs to get away. And it will be an opportunity for her to settle things with Roberta.
CHAPTER 15
Late that night Professor Roberta Chadwick was reading through the manuscript of “Culture and Society of the Deaf-Mutes of Chilmark.” Based on the abstract, the paper was scheduled for publication in the summer issue of the quarterly, Massachusetts Journal of Sociology.
As the evening grew chilly, Roberta slipped on her sweatshirt, the same pink one printed with chickadees she’d worn the day Victoria Trumbull had invited her to lunch. As she smoothed the front of the shirt, she recalled Victoria accusing her of plagiarism. Roberta felt her face flush as she recalled Victoria’s look of disgust. Plagiarism. Was it possible that’s what she was doing?
At first she’d put her name on Jodi’s paper as junior author. The department chair had assured her that a student’s work, after all, was the result of a teacher’s guidance. Students’ papers were never accepted on the basis of the students’ credentials. Jodi’s work would never be published unless Roberta’s name was on it. And, her department head warned her, she needed more publications to her credit. Tenure, he’d said. Always keep tenure in mind.
That led Roberta to put her name on the paper as senior author, rationalizing that if she rewrote and edited the paper, it would really and truly be hers, not Jodi’s.
And then Mrs. Trumbull had challenged her.
This was the way things worked in the academic world. Jodi needed to know that. Roberta deleted Jodi’s name as junior author and put it in the acknowledgments.
The deadline was coming up. She had only a short time to get all three papers ready for publication.
References had to be checked, a time-consuming chore. Footnotes. She sighed. Really, she did deserve to be senior author. Lone author. After references and footnotes she would have to rewrite to reflect her style. The students had written with entirely different voices. Jodi had submitted hard copy and she would have to retype the entire paper into her word processor. She pushed her keyboard away from her, stood up, and stretched. She would have to pull a couple of all-nighters and she didn’t look forward to that.
Fortunately, Professor Chadwick’s house was on a semicircular road near Oak Bluffs. Most of the houses along the road were summer homes. Owners had left and the houses were deserted this time of year, so it would be nice and quiet. She’d be able to get a lot done.
She brewed a pot of coffee and took a mug to her desk. She’d seated herself again when her cat jumped up onto her lap and stood staring at her.
“Settle down, Ruffles. Come on, sit.” She stroked him absently while she tried to make a list of what had to be done and when. The cat’s tail was in her face. He meowed.
“What’s the matter with you?”
He dropped off her l
ap onto the floor, circled the room, and jumped back onto her lap, where he stood again, paws kneading her jeans-clad thighs. He stared at her.
“You hear something?” Roberta stopped writing and listened. “A mouse? Mice?”
Ruffles dropped off her lap and disappeared.
When she heard knocking on the door a moment later, she glanced at her watch. It was almost eleven o’clock, and she’d forgotten all about supper. She’d forgotten to feed Ruffles. That was his problem.
Her legs were stiff from sitting for such a long time and were starting to cramp. She braced herself against her desk for a few seconds until she could work the cramps out.
A second knocking, louder.
“Just a minute!” she said. “Be right there.”
Who would call so late at night? Mrs. Hamilton was her only neighbor this time of year. Did she have an emergency?
The timer had shut the porch light off at ten, and her hallway and porch were in deep shadow.
She limped to the door but before she reached it she called out, “Come in! The door’s not locked.”
Immediately after she said that, she wondered if she should have invited in an unknown caller. But this was the Vineyard and she liked the feeling of security she had, living on the Island. “Who is it?” she asked, belatedly.
She reached the door just as it opened. She couldn’t make out the caller in the darkness. Her students never came to her home. Her sister, Linda, would have knocked, opened the door, and called out, “Anybody home?” All this went through her mind before she decided what to do.
She still couldn’t make out the person or persons on her porch. “It’s late,” she said, her eyes blurry from focusing on the papers, and not yet adjusted to the night. “Unless it’s an emergency, come back tomorrow.”
A chill breeze rustled the dry leaves in the oak in her front yard, and Roberta shuddered.
She began to close the door to block out the dark silhouette against the less black night sky, when the caller pushed a damp, acrid-smelling cloth into her face.
She reached for the light switch, and that was the last thing she knew.
* * *
Victoria was preparing for next week’s class when the police Bronco drove up and the chief knocked on the door.
“Good morning, Casey. I’ve made a fresh pot of coffee.”
“Thanks, I could use some.” Casey wiped her boots on the doormat and stepped up into the kitchen.
Victoria poured coffee into two mugs, and handed one to the chief along with milk and the sugar bowl.
They sat in the cookroom and Casey stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “Professor Roberta Chadwick is missing,” she said abruptly.
“I beg your pardon?”
Casey stirred a second, then a third spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “Your so-called friend, Roberta Chadwick. She’s missing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mrs. Hamilton, her neighbor, noticed her cat clawing at the door this morning. No sign of Chadwick.”
“Jodi talked about a meeting off Island. I imagine she’s attending that.”
“Her car’s in her driveway and Mrs. Hamilton said she’d never leave the cat for any length of time without telling her.” Casey continued to stir her sweetened coffee.
“I’m sure she’ll turn up. Why did Mrs. Hamilton notify you instead of the Oak Bluffs police?”
“Her grandson is in the same grade as Patrick in the West Tisbury school. She didn’t want to be an alarmist and call the police. So she called me.”
“And…?”
“I knew you’d had an encounter with Professor Chadwick.” Casey sipped her coffee. “Figured you might be able shed some light to pacify Mrs. Hamilton, who’s a bit of a pain, if you know what I mean.”
“I know Mrs. Hamilton.” Victoria looked up at the philodendron hanging above the table. There were a couple of dead leaves she should trim off. “I invited Professor Chadwick here for lunch during the nor’easter. Things started out well but she didn’t stay for lunch.”
“Mrs. Hamilton is in the category of nosy neighbor,” said Casey. “You’re probably right. Chadwick is at a meeting or doing something ordinary like a friend stopped by and they went for a ride.”
“Still, that’s curious about her cat.”
Casey reached for the sugar bowl.
“That’ll make four spoonfuls,” said Victoria. “Not that I mind.”
“Thanks.” Casey pushed the bowl away. “I wasn’t paying attention.” She stirred her coffee again.
“I don’t really know Roberta Chadwick,” said Victoria. “Tell Mrs. Hamilton that she’ll show up eventually. How long has she been missing?”
“Mrs. Hamilton said the last time she saw her was yesterday.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” said Victoria. “Hardly something to be alarmed about.”
“I agree.” Casey sipped her coffee. “She’s an adult, after all. Who knows why she didn’t plan for her cat.”
“Cats can take care of themselves.” Victoria nodded at McCavity, perched on the chair next to her, cleaning himself. “If she’d left without making plans for a dog, that would be different.”
“Reminds me, what do you think about Walter’s dog?”
“He’s remarkable,” said Victoria. “He’s apparently a natural cadaver dog, a great rarity. Dr. Killdeer has hired Brownie to sniff all over the Ivy Green campus.”
Casey grinned. “Thackery Wilson must be delighted.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, Mrs. Hamilton again called Casey at the West Tisbury Police Station. “Roberta still hasn’t come home and it’s been almost a full day.”
“What about her cat?” asked Casey.
“I’m feeding him. He was at her door and I just can’t help it, I feel so sorry for him.”
“Her car?” asked Casey.
“It’s still in the driveway. I looked through the glass at her box in the post office, and it hasn’t been emptied.”
“Mrs. Trumbull thinks she might be attending a meeting off Island,” said Casey. “I wouldn’t worry about her, if I were you. I did call the Oak Bluffs police after you reported her missing and gave them your number.”
“Thank you so much, Mrs. O’Neill.”
Casey winced. She’d shed that title some time ago. “Let me know if Professor Chadwick shows up.”
“I will. I certainly will. I don’t feel safe on this street this time of year with no one around. And with Roberta missing, I’m just sure she’s met with…”
“I understand,” said Casey.
CHAPTER 16
Professor Roberta Chadwick awoke to a fierce headache and a sickening rocking sensation. She was lying on her back on a narrow mattress covered with a stiff, prickly fabric.
It was pitch black. Her head hurt so much she couldn’t think straight. She was still wearing her pink sweatshirt, jeans, and Nikes, and she felt as though she’d been wearing them for weeks.
Her world spun, but she didn’t feel drunk. The last thing she remembered was working on her papers when someone knocked on her door late at night. It had been after ten because the porch lights that were on a timer were off. When she’d opened her door, someone stepped toward her. That was all she recalled.
She wasn’t in her own bed or on her own couch, she knew that much. She was surrounded by a faint musty smell. Water splashed somewhere. Nothing felt or smelled or sounded familiar. Her head hurt. She felt queasy. The darkness was disorienting. She tried to sit up and slammed her aching head on something solid right above her. She tried to hold down the panic that rose. She felt around her. Wood overhead. She wasn’t in a coffin, was she? Slanted wood to her right. The overhead, where she’d bumped her head, seemed to continue for a foot or so. Down to her right and left she felt the edges of what must be a narrow mattress. She moved her hands around until she defined her space and realized that if she slid her body out from under the shelf-like protrusion over her hea
d, she could sit up. In the blackness, everything she could feel slanted in crazy directions. Everything was moving. Her head pounded. The sloshing sound reverberated in her brain.
“Is anybody here?” she called out. “Help!” Her voice sounded weak and echoed in her throbbing skull.
No answer.
Her strange world reeled and pitched. Her stomach churned. Wood creaked around her. Metal clanged against metal above her. A chain rattled.
“I’m going to throw up! I’m sick!” she cried. “Help!”
No answer.
She held her hands over her head to gauge the space above her. Every part of her body ached. Her stomach roiled. Water surged and splashed.
A boat. She was on a boat. She’d sailed a few times with friends and knew something of the layout. She was on the V-shaped berth up forward, where two skinny mattresses on either side met at the pointed bow. The rattling chain must mean they were at anchor and the anchor chain was tensing and loosening with the motion of the waves.
How long had she been unconscious? She had no memory between seeing the dark shapes at her door, reaching for the light switch, and this ghastly awakening.
She had to get to a toilet, and fast.
The V-berth was in the front of the boat, that much she knew. The toilet would be somewhere toward the back. Immediately to her right as she felt her way aft was a door. A closet. She had to hurry. She continued toward the back of the boat, unsteady with the boat’s motion, past a table on her right, a settee on her left. Beyond the settee, another door. Found a handle. Opened the door. Felt around for the toilet. Lifted the lid, just in time.
She found toilet paper and cleaned herself up as best she could in the dark, not knowing how to flush the marine toilet, not knowing how to get water out of the faucet.
Poison Ivy Page 10
