by Judith Mehl
He doubted it would be helpful because the program only records current activity from a person’s computer and cannot detect past inquiries or conversations.
“If you’re determined to try this, you might want to use their eBlaster 5, which can send reports via e-mail file attachments or live to your e-mail. You can even list keywords and every time those words are typed, the program will send you a special alert.”
Kat considered the difficulties, while appreciating the ingenuity of the screen reporting software. Another unsuccessful attempt at reaching Dennis forestalled her plans for the next day. If he was away on vacation she and Maddy would have to reconsider plans.
If it wasn’t Nick’s night off she’d have been snooping now, assuming she could find Maddy. A couple phone calls to plan the day left her dry in that area too. Now, with Ted in the picture it was difficult to know where to find Maddy. But the tournament was coming to an end soon, and Kat knew that if Ted bounced out of Maddy’s life like he bounded in, she may need a friend’s shoulder and a few Amarettos on ice.
The phone rang and when Kat heard her father’s voice, she knew her luck had truly run out. Someone had told him about the murder, and he voiced fear she’d become involved. She was sure Richard Burrows hadn’t leaked the information. He valued his life too much, which meant there was some other busybody James was protecting as a future source.
When Nick grasped the nature of the call he smiled understandingly and motioned Did she want an ice pack for her head or another drink?
Kat opted for another drink by frantically shaking her glass and settled cross-legged on the sofa. She might as well get comfortable. Once her dad was on a tear, the long distance phone element couldn’t sway him. He was worried about his little girl, and he was going to make sure she knew it.
“Yes, dad, Ed Ambrose was killed. No, I don’t know who did it. No, I’m not helping Richard. He wants me to stay out of it.” She smiled sweetly at Nick as he handed her the drink. Well, that was all true. Detective Burrows had made it very clear he wanted her out of it.
She made a quick attempt at diversion. “How’s Artie?”
A blessed silence ensued while she took a sip and winked at Nick.
“Ahh, so Artie and Heloise will be having offspring soon. How wonderful! How does mom feel about having little alligators about the house?”
She only had a moment to shift position before finding the need to defend herself. “Well, I know you’re not allowed to bring them in the house. I didn’t mean that literally. Why don’t you give mom my love? I have to go now.”
Kat kept attempting to hang up the phone, and finally, several mmhmmms later, managed it with a sigh and a sweep of hand across the brow.
“Thanks for the support, Nick,” she said, “but we just have to get one of those caller ID services.”
“Kat, you cannot ignore calls from your parents. They may be calling about something serious sometime and you’d feel awful.”
She took another swallow. “Okay, okay. You’re right.”
Eventually she returned to her evening’s game plan. Her luck went a little better when she reached Dennis. She pumped him for information on Nettle, Ambrose, and the relationship between the two. She reminded him of the argument the other night in Shorty’s Place between the old rivals. As she suspected, he was a wealth of information, though he knew little of Nettle’s hatred of Ambrose.
“Rumor has it that Ambrose recently moved in on one of Nettle’s conquests, making it short lived. Apparently they both thought they were prizes—not realizing there was no real game.” Dennis further explained Nettle as an unusual combination of character traits. He was a good coach and teacher. Students enjoyed working with him and found him tough but fair. He honed many team members over the years into winning players. They appreciated that. Incoming students were willing to exert themselves because of it.
On the other hand, Nettle’s social behavior was erratic and compromised by his insistence on the “right clothes” at all times. Faculty members, especially those in the athletic area, weren’t generally known for their fashion sense. He was tolerated, not loved. The tennis fans among them were critical of his less than perfect seasons, though none were capable of better.
Nettle joined the university seven years earlier, followed by Ambrose’s arrival somewhat later. Theirs was a mixed relationship on the surface. It wasn’t so coincidental that they’d meet again. Each began his life within a mile of the university, had grown their beards there, and sung Kumbaya while smoking their first weed. A fortuitous broken bone on the aging tennis coach brought Nettle back to the area and eventually a permanent job. A chance combination of men’s fates saw Ambrose arrive later.
“Nettle was hallowed for bringing the tournament to campus. Ambrose was sanctioned because he kept it there,” she capsulized.
Dennis promised a handwriting sample of the coach before she could ask and made plans for her to pick it up from his desk. He then pinpointed several aspects of Ambrose’s personality clouded by his more abrasive aspects.
“He ran a great tournament. Never mind that he used people to make it happen. He had superb marketing instincts and rallied together the people needed for a successful event.”
Dennis heard her indelicate sniff and remarked, “Well, look at you and your department! Over the years you developed fantastic contacts for straight news and feature articles. You wrote many yourself. All that combined with a hard-working student force that led to victory in the box office. Public relations help a lot of people and groups, but sometimes you use those people, too, when you’re trying to pin down a story.”
Kat conjectured how that factored into Ambrose’s role as a victim. She couldn’t mentally release the possibility that the ugly man was hated, despised and ripe for what happened to him. Dennis was more reserved in his thinking.
She wondered who else she should pursue as a suspect. Before she could strike out a third time, Nick convinced her life was not all work. Tonight was for play.
Chapter 11
When ordinary looking letters are awkward and partly illegible it points to the writer’s desire to conceal some object. Letters that dwindle in primitive-looking writing typify shrewdness or possibly dishonesty.
“Handwriting —Revelation of Self” by Dr. Herry O. Teltscher”
Kat’s daily drive to work followed the barbed-wire barrier surrounding the detritus of the Eastern Iron and Steel Company on the edge of town. Defunct railroad tracks crisscrossed the area into the plant, even though production halted in the late 80s. She seldom paid much attention to the plant, or what its passing had done to many lives in town, but she knew it sometimes affected Nick and G. L. in their work.
Nick spoke of it often, how even the grown children of the laid-off plant workers still suffered the mental aftermath of the closing: the catch-all jobs, lost self-esteem, and lack of funds for education. Steel work had been a hazardous but proud profession. The danger had been minimized over the years but it was an exaggerated industry measured in superlatives—in thousands of tons and unbearably high temperatures. The men had needed a cooling down period and many found it in a shared beer at the Steelwinders bar in town.
Many of those men, laid off when steel production headed overseas, still sat at deeply gouged and age-roughened tables in Steelwinders, downing sour grapes with whiskey as they relived “the good ole’ days,” the same ones they’d have killed to get away from in their younger years. They bragged of the area’s heyday, when construction of the railroads converged with the growth of iron production and steel, and pockets were lined with comfort from a hard days work, well-paid. They ignored the warnings to discover new abilities and move on as that heyday faded and more and more of the twisted girders of the booming era fell into silence.
Before it died, the iron industry bred discontent while forging a melting pot where unlikely friendships outlasted the steel production. Such was the strongly-welded bond of G. L. and Nick, who often found t
he need to visit Steelwinders during investigations. They admired the usually congenial blend of patrons, those representing modern education as well as the hardened men with their hands-on learning. But many a clash between college students who wanted it declared their official hangout, and the retired steel men, who laid prior claim, caused constant grief for the local police. And for the investigators, elusive characters could be found here, where information sold for a shot of whiskey and a kind word.
Kat drove past the deserted bar and newly renovated restaurant area this morning and wondered how many similarities there were to the staff and faculty she saw daily. Some were mired in their jobs, held by tenure or seniority, unable or unwilling to move and start over, and often just as willing to talk to anyone who would listen. Had Ambrose been the same way? Only his brash behavior kept anyone from looking closer? Had he been killed? How?
Kat had suspected poison when she saw the overturned thermos and the pained expression on the man’s face as he lay sprawled on the blanket. Signs of vomiting or drooling lent credence to her suspicions, though not confirming them. He could have died from a number of illnesses, though she assumed otherwise based on police investigation in the area. Burrows was more tight-lipped than usual. The police were questioning people, Kat figured as the most likely suspects in a killing of the tennis tournament manager. Surely that meant they also figured Ambrose was actually “killed.” If it was poison, they would be lucky to have the report back in a week. Kat felt too anxious to wait that long before pursuing her questions.
She assessed the day. The tournament was running on schedule despite the missing manager, but she wondered how Lauri Carmichael was handling the aftermath of her lover’s death. Professor Carmichael had excused herself from teaching, but no one was surprised at that, just two days after the death of her lover in such strange circumstances. Only a few professors taught the last summer session. A substitute was easily found. Though the students didn’t suffer personally from his death, most knowing nothing of Ed Ambrose, they could sustain great difficulties from a faculty transition in an already time-compressed summer class.
Kat took a quick walking tour of campus. When it came to snazzy shoes her vanity skyrocketed, but she had the sense to keep her treks short when sporting Christian Louboutin’s platform pumps with four-inch heels.
Was she vain she wondered, as she minced her way around a mud puddle? It’s not like the shoes were crucial to her existence. A softy at heart, staff and teachers knew to tap her wallet whenever money was needed for a student emergency. Many a saved dollar for shoes bought food for a student short on funds.
Rubbing a touch of dirt from the side of her shoe with a tissue, she moved on, noting particularly beautiful areas to highlight in the photography session scheduled later, knowing that the trees would don their autumn garb in a month or two to warrant a special session. The Poconos drew visitors from afar with spectacular displays of burnt umber, deep orange and russet leaves. Painters flocked to document the exhibition and tourists provided fanfare.
In her own trip through campus, Kat also mentally bookmarked a possible story idea on the fine arts building construction progress. When art exhibits and theatre productions moved from the old housing to the new in the spring, the old building would be converted into some innovative artists’ labs that could use some pre-publicity soon. From the fence, she admired the new roof with its modern and dramatic lines, and marveled at how quickly new walls reached heavenward day by day.
The brief reprieve ended as thoughts returned to the lifeless body found nearby. She sought Lauri out at her home under the guise of friendship and concern. Kate hesitated to even suspect the woman, with her obvious but sincere sorrow at Ed’s death. She had seen the distraught woman leaving the police station the day before, and the grief was so palpable Kat chose not to interrupt with a hello.
Though she knew Lauri often made herbal tea for Ed, the controversial thermos wasn’t enough of a flag directing her to the anguished lover. It was, however, suspicious that Burrows avoided even mentioning the item to Kat. Had he questioned Ambrose’s lover? Was Kat interfering in the investigation again if she spoke with Lauri about it? Since he wouldn’t share his information, how was she to know?
Lauri had been the tournament manager’s lover for a number of years and since Ambrose had no family in the area, Kat wondered if Lauri would be handling the burial arrangements. At least that, and an offer to help, cleared her conscience for a visit. She found the woman in her house on the edge of campus that her father had owned before her, and his father before him. Kat remembered how much Lauri loved the woods around her home, as had her dad. The land had been stunning in May, awash with the pink of millions of clusters of saucer-shaped flowers. Nothing eclipsed the laurel in bloom, though this spectacular show of nature was followed quickly by a dynamic sequel, the rhododendron in bloom.
This late in the summer it was still a lush deep green, a verdant backdrop for the stunning house that had been built as a natural extension of the woods. Kat couldn’t understand how Lauri could part with the land surrounding her home; it was not only her heritage, but a living work of art. She’d been left with only a small area encompassing the house. The recently sold piece of property included the area where the body had been found and Kat pondered the significance of that. She knew it wasn’t enough evidence to convict Lauri, but was surprised the police seemed to be ignoring her as a suspect. She’d owned the property; suffered a great emotional loss at selling it; the sale tied in with her contribution to Ambrose’s tennis center; and she was a scorned lover. What more did the police want? A personal note that said, “I did it! Come get me.”
Of course, even Kat wasn’t that convinced it was Lauri. She’d looked so pathetically sad at his passing. But Kat fumed at the police insistence on looking at the tennis players while Lauri sat at home.
Kat held her concerns at bay as she came to visit. The lines in the woman’s forehead, permanently etched there by her dour disposition, were emphasized by fatigue. The raw red blotches on her tear-streaked cheeks and bloodshot eyes, attested to her grief when she answered the door. Kat felt intrusive, but offered sympathy with her suspicions.
She immediately gave Lauri a tight hug as she stepped into the foyer. “I’m so sorry. What can I do to help?”
She gently placed her arm across Lauri’s shoulders as they walked down the hall to the sunroom. Plants of every texture and shape charmed one to join in a cup of coffee, or merely enjoy a respite provided by the outdoors brought in through the elongated windows enclosing the room. Its enchantment was only surpassed by that of the adjacent greenhouse, which Kat knew was Lauri’s lifeblood and salvation. When Ed passed out of her life for weeks at a time as he did in recent years, in widening circles of dismissiveness, Lauri must have gained confidence and solace from her botanical experiments and the comfort of her cozy home.
She provided Kat a quick tour of the latest endeavors in her lush greenhouse—a hobby designed to provide relief from the syntax and grammar of her English teaching career. The hot humidity sucked at Kat, draining her, though it seemed to energize the gardener. She discreetly looked for samples of handwriting lying around. Finding signs of deceit or violence would be a big help, or even some dwindling lines, but there was nothing in sight. Didn’t the woman leave anything amiss? Her own home had papers everywhere.
Later, as they drank iced tea, Lauri’s weak with newly-escaped tears, she wondered if the woman’s appeal might not have been her idealistic admiration more than her appearance. Though she had curves, they were misplaced, like they were seeking a place to land and fell short. Her light brown hair hung limply, in defeat of assuming any style. Kat mentally apologized for her inconsiderate thought and steered the conversation to a practical matter.
They briefly discussed funeral arrangements. Lauri had taken on the task because his estranged family had not responded to phone calls. The police weren’t even sure if they had the latest address on the father
. The mother had apparently left when Ed was in his teens. Since he was not a religious man, Lauri had agreed to schedule a small viewing and service at the cemetery soon. She was distressed that the police were so slow in releasing the body, but didn’t seem to know any more than Kat did as to the cause.
Kat compared the situation to the many family wakes she’d attended, some even raucous in their intensity, where all rallied round to support those left behind. In sympathy for Lauri’s plight, she offered to inform the tournament people about the viewing and burial, and to spread the word around campus. The funeral home was placing a notice in the paper, and Kat assured a respectable showing.
“Thanks so much. No one else has come by to offer help.”
“I think many are still in shock. And there’s the mystery of how he died, and where. Weren’t you spooked to find him so nearby?”
Lauri bristled. “You know I didn’t find him. I never saw him, not even later when the police took me over there to confirm that it was no longer my property. They had already taken him away.”
“I didn’t mean literally,” Kat was quick to reassure though she was surprised at Lauri's reaction. She was a firm believer that a person’s body signals clues when bent upon deceit. She pondered Lauri’s sudden fidgeting and raised voice. What could she be lying about? The woman hadn’t seen the body from the moment Kat was there, but who knew what happened earlier before the students arrived, or even the night before. Even if she poisoned him she need not have been there. Death can be hours after ingestion of a poison. The detective in her didn’t take the time to ponder it right then, but promised a look later.
Lauri’s anger brought her back to the present. “They showed me the blanket and the thermos at the police station. I don’t know what they wanted. It was his blanket, from the trunk of his car. We’ve used it before! For picnics.”
