by Judith Mehl
Kat pondered the information she gathered when researching tennis tournaments and whether that information was relevant to the murder. Tennis was in what had been declared “the most wide open era ever,” where one could find fifteen different finalists in recent Grand Slams, where there were topsy-turvy results in the women’s tournaments, and you never knew which top-ranked men would actually show, sign off due to injury, or get routed in preliminary play. Yet the statistics showed that tennis viewing was at its prime; the stadiums were first class and getting classier; and the pros were stretching their limits. Fans couldn’t ask for much more. Even at the satellites, it was prime viewing and the viewers a refined group.
So why the murder?
Could the incidents be non-tournament related, an attempt to cover up the real purpose of Edward Ambrose’s demise? Kat contemplated the possibilities as she left the stands and weighed the groups of people there with a new measure. Could the picture even be bigger? Revenge against the satellite tour and not the university or Ambrose? Was he a pawn in a larger game?
She mentioned her concerns to Maddy, who listened eagerly but grasped the possibility without professing belief in it. “Who would pick Ambrose as an act of sabotage on the tournament? His importance ranked with the ball boys in power to stop the play.”
Kat also had difficulty accepting that theory in the bright sunlight and laughter around her. She liked most of the tournament personnel, making it even more unbelievable to accept their role in that particular scenario.
She favored Ted Wright in this tournament, thrilled for Maddy’s sake that he marched to the final playoffs with a good chance at winning. She knew that Maddy felt guilty that he’d injured his ankle while they were playing around.
If his efforts in this match were a sign, he might well take the trophy. What could he gain from the events around Ambrose’s death? The game was won on talent and luck. The police had stopped hounding him and she was curious why, wondering if her words with Burrows had actually held any merit. There’s no way to prove the man didn’t do it if he was alone all night. Maybe they were just holding back—checking out their other possibilities. She would know for sure when it was time for him to leave town. That was another nightmare altogether. Would the police delay any of the players from leaving, causing havoc with their points in the tour? To have the scheduled matches proceed uninterrupted remained top priority. Until now she’d not considered later complications from the murder investigation.
Maddy seemed truly in love and contemplated a long-distance romance with a man who trailed groupies behind him like bread crumbs. Maddy may have French blood, but she was a realist. What would she decide? Kat knew that her decision would have nothing to do with Ted’s final ranking. Maddy’s love never kept score that way.
Kat fled the arena before the fans poured out. Work piled up to finalize closing ceremonies in two days. She mentally devised a game plan to tackle it when a light tap on her shoulder elicited a jerk sideways and a startled squeak. She turned, recognized Terry, one of the university tennis players who had been sitting near her in the stands just a few minutes before, and calmed. Her reaction reiterated the ongoing strain of the murder investigation. She reigned in her fears and convinced Terry that she was fine as he fidgeted about, not sure if he should continue.
Once she’d persuaded him to talk, he urged her to an alcove in the corner seeking privacy.
“Ms. Everitt, I know you’re helping the police hunt up Ambrose’s killer, and I also heard what you said to Ms. Girard about the vandalism and the killing being all part of a bigger picture.”
Kat waited patiently as he jiggled his feet restlessly, wondering where he was leading.
“If you go on thinking that way, you may never find the killer. I don’t want to be responsible for that!”
“Terry, why would you be responsible?”
“Because I know the paint vandalism was just a careless act. College kids in a drunken haze; that’s all. If they confess, they might get kicked off the team. If they don’t, you’ll be searching in the wrong place. I don’t know what to do,” he cried.
Kat ushered him to a vacant table in the corner, grateful that most of the fans were in the stands watching the next match. Compelled by his love for the sport, and his hope that the tournament would continue in future years at the university, Terry told her what he knew.
She hadn’t been enamored with the conspiracy theory, anyway, but this proved Ambrose’s death was a singular incident amidst many. She convinced Terry to go immediately to the police and tell them what he knew. She coached him on how to bargain for immunity for himself and his friends before speaking, and hoped Burrows would be in a kind mood. Though they would still have to make restitution to the university for damaged property, maybe they could remain on the team if Burrows chose to support them in exchange for evidence the vandalism was unrelated to Ambrose’s murder.
Her heels smacked the pavement like drill bits on the way back to the office, echoing her pointed thoughts and forcing the concentration needed to make the effort and continue with her chores. There was a killer out there and even as an amateur detective, she felt responsible to find him. Sometimes the police didn’t have enough evidence or were bound by convention and civility. She realized that when she pushed, she placed herself in danger. She could live with the fear she tried to prevent on her friends’ behalf if she could only stop their plight in the end.
Desperate to have Maddy bring more of Lauri’s handwriting, she hoped to gain a new approach to the woman who was her top suspect. She wanted to confront the professor with the laurel toxin information, yet couldn’t reveal her source, or her snooping. As her mind turned over the choices, she plotted the time and whereabouts of the showdown.
She wanted her suspect comfortable, and not suspicious. The woman wasn’t exactly socializing lately. Kat opted for the office—Lauri’s, not hers. No one felt at ease in a public relations office. They were always afraid their every word would be twisted and in print by morning, that their reputation rested on every word uttered, and that anyone in public relations would wait with clever cunning to pounce on each word. Even those seeking publicity feared that.
Lauri certainly wanted none. Kat, adorned in sheep’s clothing disguised as a camel canvas suit befitting tennis stands and office work, prepared for the confrontation. She took a side trip to the local nursery. When in doubt, bring a green bribe. Only to Kat, that didn’t mean money. It meant a plant.
A drooping Boston fern and a vibrant African violet were bypassed as too common to suit Lauri. She steered away from the herbal type plants for fear of raising the woman’s hackles instead of pacifying. A Tillandsia caput-medusae caught her attention with its stunning thick, twisted leaves rising from a bulbous base. This particular air plant had blue flowers on the verge of bloom and truly resembled Medusa.
No one with Lauri’s interest in botany could turn down an associate bearing such a gift. She’d buy her way in the door. Once in, she’d have to strike quickly with some sweet and friendly chit-chat and segue into her questions about herbs. It was a common interest; it should be easy, she thought.
“What a magnificent specimen!” the clerk validated her choice as she carefully packaged it for safe travel. Kat winced only slightly at the price tag of today’s bribe. She hoped the search for a murderer would be over soon.
She didn’t like this part of town, but the plant store carried prime stock and that superseded any minor concerns regarding the location. This section was the graveyard of industrial sins, greasy food joints, and tire dumps. Even the roots of the trees along the road were exposed, causing them to fall forward, an erosion of more than the soil. The detritus of society’s businesses, fuel for car and body but not the soul, lined the highway back to the university. Kat wondered if it was a sign, but tore her mind back to more practical matters—how to entice Lauri into admitting she killed Ed Ambrose.
She drove past many laurel, a 12-13-foot tall evergreen
shrub, the state flower of Pennsylvania. It had a history. It was part of Lauri’s history. How did she bring it up? Too bad the shrubs were long past their bloom. The dry woods and slopes on Lauri’s property were the perfect foil for their beauty. Some of those trees preened with old age, exhibiting the open, straggly look with picturesque gnarly trunks and limbs that surpassed the symmetrical density of youth. Were they also deadly? How could something so exquisite in mass, so magnificent in flower, be a lethal weapon?
Hopefully she’d find out exactly what happened. Bearing her gift she approached the woman’s office. Subdued, undecorated, all surfaces piled high in books, manuscripts, and journals, the tiny room exuded a lofty air of ideals, tinged with dust mites. Lauri hadn’t been coping.
Kat’s hesitant knock and quiet “hello” brought no response, but the knock served as a gentle shove on the door and she could see the occupant within, head in hands at her desk. Not one to reverse course, she barged forward.
“Lauri, how are you? I brought you this stunning plant. Isn’t it marvelous?”
Her chatter served to provide Lauri the needed recovery time to disguise a swiped tear before turning on the desk lamp and studying the plant.
“It is remarkable. What is it?”
Pleased that she had stumped the amateur botanist, Kat provided her newly acquired information on the Tillandsia caput-medusae and gave her care and feeding instructions.
The amateur sleuth part of Kat found it difficult talking with Lauri, though talking socially was not usually a handicap for her. This time she moved swiftly to her point, weaving her way into the eccentricities of plants and herbs.
“For instance, did you know that one could make a tonic of laurel leaves, and death could follow ingestion in six hours?”
Lauri, only briefly taken aback, said, “Actually, the time varies greatly but I hear it’s possible. What brings up this morbid topic?”
“I was speculating on how Ed may have died. The police aren’t saying much. I couldn’t believe that less than seven drops could fell a grown man, maybe even kill him, if unattended to.”
“Don’t waste time speculating Kat. Of course I know about laurel poisoning. I’ve lived amongst the shrubs most of my life.”
She plucked a few dead leaves and made a ceremony of their disposal, but she finally continued, lost in thought. When I was young my father taught me to stay away from the bee hives on our property because the honey might be toxic. Eventually, he rid the land of the hives just to be safe.”
She settled back onto the desktop, swinging her leg and reminiscing. “Dad used to tell me tales of Greek armies and poisoned honey cakes.”
Her leg stopped swinging. “I miss him so.”
Lauri fiddled with the new plant, keeping her eyes away from her visitor’s. Kat sensed she was losing ground rapidly. She couldn’t mention any of the condemning information from the computer, but she could ask some innocent questions.
“Is that where you learned to make infusions? From your dad?”
“Yes. He knew it all. How to make tinctures and double extracts. How to make syrups for children that would be easier to swallow. Dad was great. Maybe I should have been a botanist like him.”
Kat could picture them together in the lab section of Lauri’s greenhouse. The old gray head huddled over the young girl with pigtails. It was a sweet scene, until Kat also fantasized about Lauri simmering the leaves, roots, and bark of the laurel.
Was Lauri admitting everything? Or nothing? Kat felt cruel, but needed to bring the conversation back into her corner.
“I was surprised to hear that the victim would experience nausea, irritation, drooling or vomiting, paralysis, slowing of pulse, lowering of blood pressure, even seizure or coma.”
Lauri winced, jerking backward and clumsily settled down into the desk chair, dropping her casual desk-top stance. “You know that’s how Ed died! Why are you so heartless?”
“That’s how Ed died? How do you know that? Did the police tell you it was laurel poisoning?”
“No, you know they reveal very little. But they said he exhibited some of those symptoms. It was unfeeling of you to remind me. What do you want?”
Kat paced from one stack of books to the next, watching her steps carefully to avoid a topple. She felt insensitive and ruthless and wondered herself what she really wanted.
“I only want to see Ed avenged. Don’t you?”
“Will badgering me avenge his death?”
Kat shied away from accusing Lauri of the murder. After all, she had no proof.
“I didn’t think my talk with you was that offensive. I’m sorry you thought I would badger.”
She turned to leave, placed a gentle tap on Lauri’s shoulder. “Please enjoy the plant.”
WHILE KAT mentally battled with Lauri and lost, Nick and G. L. worked out at their club. Their choice lacked the dainty pristine appearance of the new fitness center. Here the modern treadmills and exercise machines blended with the ancient release of a punching bag and old men’s gossip. Today the gossip centered on Kat, her latest predicament, and how best to protect her. Their concern drove their pace, increasing as their frustration rose from tilting at an unknown enemy, who may or may not be the same person who killed Ambrose, may or may not be stalking her.
Nick exhaled on exertion, regulating his breathing as best he could while talking. “You know if we put a tail on her we’ll be stripped raw with her tongue. On the other hand, if we don’t, we won’t rest a minute.”
“I thought by now Kat would be used to you and your guard dogs.”
Nick grinned. “Yeah, sure. Kat loves feeling inadequate and unable to take care of herself.”
G. L. grunted in agreement as he inhaled the musky odor of floors permeated with years of sweat. “You choose, man. I came to this meeting because I love the smell here. Besides, you have to live with her.”
Chapter 22
Recent broken bones, blows to the body, and depression can actually show up in handwriting, but certified analysts know not to diagnose illness unless they have a medical license. Suggesting one see a doctor, however, is the norm.
Various Sources
Following her contretemps with Lauri Kat needed the soothing comfort of friends, and chocolate. She bee-lined to the campus coffee shop. Only extreme connoisseurs and students frequented the place at this time of day. With the summer session ending, few imbibed, but she found what she needed at a small table in the corner where Charlene and Simon endlessly debated the merits of judging prospective students by their SAT scores. She staked a claim on a seat nearby and followed the call of a chocolate covered cream puff.
As close as she was to the friendly secretary and the chemistry chair, she didn’t feel comfortable explaining her defeat at Lauri’s hands. She wasn’t up to making accusations about the woman that were not yet confirmed. Kat consoled herself with the cream puff and the camaraderie, only half listening to the infinite variations on the qualifying theme. She was very familiar with the theory that many students tested poorly, though they held high IQ’s and were quite able to apply themselves to the tasks necessary in the college setting.
Simon, switched gears, praising some of his latest students, yet elated at the ending of summer classes and overly heated chemistry labs. He never noticed Kat’s lack of conversation. The man’s cheer was soothing to her senses, a fine vintage to accompany the chocolate pastry.
She left and walked to her car, parked in the administration lot across campus. She enjoyed the peace of her late afternoon walk. Breezy clouds whisked across the azure blue sky, tempting Kat to daydream. Not one to hide from reality, she tackled the problem of narrowing her suspect list down. On the one hand, she reminded herself to keep open-minded. There were still others with possible cause to eliminate Ambrose. On the other hand, she contemplated ways to pull a confession from Lauri, whom she leaned toward as the most viable killer.
Deep in thought, Kat automatically noted the traffic light change to red
and stepped into the intersection. She didn’t notice the man close behind her, racing to catch up, or the dark sedan tearing through the intersection to her left and making a sharp right turn into her path. The impact threw her further into the street, though it barely clipped her on the left side. She lost consciousness when she fell, only vaguely recalling the slight tug on her shoulder, and the cacophonous honking of horns as vehicles halted, some of them in unlikely locations as the drivers realized what had transpired.
Officious professors, godsends at such an occasion, held traffic at bay, called the police and an ambulance, and even asked witnesses to linger until their arrival. Someone who knew Kat well, called Petingill and Donnelly Security from his cell phone and reached Nick with the news.
Kat blinked back into the world only seconds after leaving it, fortunately in time for them to tell Nick before he hung up and raced out the door. Her viewpoint, face up from the ground, showed the incongruous combination of Lauri Carmichael and David Nettle staring down at her. She brushed away a trickle from her left eye, realizing belatedly that it was blood and let her hand flutter helplessly to the ground, not knowing what to do with the offending substance.
Kat sensed Lauri hovering over her face, somewhat shifting like she couldn’t stand still, or maybe that was the result of her own drifting in and out of consciousness. She wasn’t sure. She did hear Lauri apologize profusely; if so, everyone heard her. Did that mean that the woman admitted to trying to kill her?
As the woman knelt gingerly on her white polyester dress next to Kat, it appeared for an instant that it was confession time. But Lauri merely whispered obscurely, “Katharine you really must be more careful what you do.”
