by Clea Simon
But would Showalter have falsified the assault? It was possible. Maybe she had arrived in Cambridge and had second thoughts. Maybe she’d had stage fright – or even too much to drink at the pre-talk gathering – and decided that she wanted out. Canceling, once she was already here, would be awkward, especially as the university had probably footed the bill. And besides, word would get out, sinking her chances of other invites – and other offers.
Had Showalter heard about the earlier attacks? It was possible. At the very least, when she checked into the hotel, she had probably been given an introduction to the area – where to get a taxi or the T. And where not to walk after dark.
She had seemed like a sensible woman. That didn’t mean she was immune to nerves. Or, if she had faked the attack, was it because of something else going on? That scrap of conversation came back – the idea of a stalker. Showalter had referred to a woman, hadn’t she? Maybe Dulcie had misheard. And if followed up on the idea of something else going on, something threatening, she had to once again consider her adviser’s strange behavior.
Maybe she was being unfair. Dulcie poured herself a cup and thought about what she’d learned recently. For all she and her friends tended to consider grad students to be the bottom of the pile, it didn’t seem like the pressure let up, even as one ascended. Martin Thorpe, at least in Nancy’s opinion, had been nearly undone by the pressure of the competition. Dulcie still had some doubts about what was really bothering her adviser, but surely, knowing that international candidates were being flown in for a job he had considered his own couldn’t help. Especially since …
No, Dulcie got up to get the milk. It wasn’t her fault, and Thorpe couldn’t blame her. If anything, she told herself as she stirred in a good-sized dollop, what she had done as Thorpe’s charge should reflect well on him.
‘Mrup!’ Esmé was pawing gently at her leg.
‘No, Esmé, it’s not good for you, now that you’re grown.’
Dulcie returned the milk to the fridge and hoisted the little cat up on her lap. Somehow, a warm cat always helped her concentrate. But as Esmé kneaded, Dulcie found herself wishing she could bounce ideas off the feline, too.
‘You could weigh in you know. Any time.’ Esmé ignored her, and Dulcie, glancing at the clock, thought of her boyfriend. Quarter to nine. She should wake Chris, but she didn’t want to. Because of her boyfriend’s strange schedule, he was permanently exhausted. She’d shower first; that would still leave him plenty of time to get ready for his first section. Then, after her own first class, she’d call Emily. At the very least, she would find out what the girl
had meant.
Maybe Lucy wasn’t the psychic one. By the time Dulcie emerged from the shower, Chris was awake, and she refilled her mug to join him at the breakfast table.
‘This is nice, huh?’ He got the cereal bowls.
‘Definitely.’ She smiled. ‘No offense to Esmé, but I’m really glad to have someone to talk things over with.’ With that, she filled him in on the strange email from the night before.
‘Did you try asking her?’ Chris looked at her under his long bangs. It was a cute look, but Dulcie wasn’t swayed.
‘No, I guess I was afraid.’ She made a face. ‘It seemed like the kind of thing that I’d want to talk to her about, and I didn’t know if it was too early. Though maybe she’ll have explained herself more.’ She tapped her laptop to wake it but the only new message was something from the Coop. Logo sweatshirts were on sale.
‘Maybe this is good news for Thorpe.’ Chris wisely decided to change the topic, or at least veer it in a different direction. ‘I mean, if one of the stronger candidates is disqualified, maybe they’ll start to appreciate the solid job he’s been doing.’
‘Not necessarily.’ Dulcie thought through the factors that might influence the search committee. ‘For starters, he doesn’t have a big coterie of grad students. As far as I know, I’m his only doctoral candidate, and I’m nowhere near finishing my thesis.’ She didn’t have to explain. As incomprehensible as they might be to outsiders, in the rarefied world of academia, both of these facts would reflect badly on Thorpe, no matter how unfair that was.
‘You did publish that article, though.’ Chris, after a good night’s sleep, was determinedly optimistic. ‘And, who knows? You really might be on the verge of a momentous discovery.’
‘Except that I have no plans to publish about it.’ She softened the blow with a smile. ‘Not yet, anyway.’ Publishing, they both knew, was the only marker of success in academia. ‘Besides …’ She stopped herself. The idea of publishing had made her think of her last paper. ‘There was all the brouhaha in September, and I was at the center of that,’ she said finally. Chris would know what she was talking about.
He did. ‘They couldn’t still be blaming Thorpe – or you – for that, could they?’
Dulcie shook her head, as if she were uncertain. He was in a good mood. They’d had a lovely evening, and she didn’t want to mar it. But when she looked down at the cat, those green eyes held a harder truth. Yes, she acknowledged silently to Esmé. It wasn’t fair, but they could.
‘What do you think, kitty? Do you think old Thorpe has a chance?’ It wasn’t exactly what Chris had asked, but it was a question she dared voice aloud. Esmé blinked, once, but didn’t otherwise respond, leaving her humans to finish their coffee in silence.
FORTY
Dulcie and Chris had gone on to cheerier conversation before heading off for the day. Chris had hopes of making his schedule change permanent, he had said. Three nights a week, he hoped to be able to come home by a reasonable hour. Dulcie had been happy – for him. But also a little concerned. The overnights were the best-paying shifts, which is why he’d held them for so long. If Chris, as Dulcie suspected, was changing his schedule around simply because he was worried that she couldn’t – or wouldn’t – take care of herself, then he was doing them both a disservice.
He’d sounded so happy that she hadn’t wanted to bring it up, but she made a mental note. If she – or, okay, Rogovoy – didn’t get to the bottom of these attacks soon, she would find a way to convince Chris that she was a responsible urban dweller.
At quarter to ten in the morning, though, the streets of Cambridge were anything but threatening, and it was hard to picture them as dark or scary. She’d meant to email Emily again, or even call, but it had been so nice lingering over coffee with Chris that time had gotten away from her. She’d left him setting up for an online help session, still in his pajamas, and greeted a day as crisp and fresh as a local apple.
On a day like this, even the idea of returning to her thesis was brighter. Dulcie pulled out her phone as she strode down the sidewalk. She had a section – Early Romantic Poetry – right in the Yard. It would be the most natural thing in the world to hop from there over to Widener. She still had a ton of notes on The Ravagesthat she hadn’t written up yet. If she applied herself, she could have another chapter ready before Thorpe’s new deadline. In fact, she promised herself, if she could get through those notes by lunch, she’d reward herself not with another three-bean burger, but with an hour in the Mildon. This wasn’t taking the place of her work on her dissertation. It was a side project. And if she were lucky, well, she and Martin Thorpe would deal with it then.
In the meantime, she dialed the number for Emily and Mina’s dorm room.
‘Hello?’ The voice on the other end sounded so tentative, Dulcie worried that she had called too early.
‘Hi, Emily? It’s Dulcie.’ She bit her lip. The junior seemed so frail at times; she undoubtedly needed her rest. ‘Am I calling too early?’
‘Huh? No, I just – I had a bad night. I was at the health services.’
‘Is it Mina?’ Dulcie couldn’t forget that this girl’s room-mate still lay in a coma. ‘Emily, if I can do anything …’
‘Oh, no. She’s, well, her condition hasn’t changed. I had to have some tests.’ Dulcie could hear the thud of the cane as the other girl walke
d. So that was why she had sent such a terse note last night.
‘I’m sorry.’ It wasn’t really the right response, but she didn’t want to pry. She also didn’t want to rush the other girl, even as the sight of the Yard’s red-brick wall reminded her of why she had called. ‘But Emily? I wanted to follow up on that email you sent last night. About the professor?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ More thudding. And a beep – Dulcie had another call.
‘Would you hang on a moment?’ Dulcie regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. She couldn’t afford to lose this girl. Emily grunted something that sounded like assent, though, and so Dulcie clicked over.
‘Dulcie? It’s Raleigh.’ Dulcie was about to make an excuse to call her back when Raleigh continued. ‘It’s about that kitten. Can we talk?’
‘Uh, yeah.’ Dulcie thought fast. ‘Hang on one minute?’
Dulcie clicked back. Emily was still there, barely.
‘I’m sorry,’ she was saying. ‘I’ve got to go. I’m trying to get off to class.’
Dulcie scrambled. ‘I understand. How about lunch?’ It wasn’t time at the Mildon, but perhaps it was more important.
‘Uh, okay.’ Emily sounded uncertain, so Dulcie tried to make it sound as social as she could.
‘How about Lala’s? I love that place, don’t you?’ Maybe she’d have something besides the burger. ‘How’s twelve thirty?’ That would give her a little library time, at least.
‘Sure, sure.’ More thudding. ‘See you there.’ Emily hung up, leaving Dulcie with the impression that her hard sell hadn’t worked and that more than fatigue was weighing on the junior.
Meanwhile, she was outside Longfellow Hall. Her section would start in two minutes, and Raleigh was on the other line.
‘Hi, Raleigh. Sorry about that. What’s up?’ Dulcie looked up at the big clock. One minute. This had better be important.
It was. ‘It’s that kitten, Dulcie. He’s a real sweetheart, a real cuddler. But that just makes it worse. Lloyd’s using his inhaler constantly. I mean, he doesn’t want to say anything. He certainly doesn’t want me to take the kitten to a shelter, but …’
‘No, no.’ Dulcie responded with a sinking feeling. ‘I understand.’ She had left Raleigh and Lloyd in the lurch. This was her fault; she had to do something. ‘Look, Raleigh? I haven’t checked with Chris.’ Or with Esmé, she wanted to say. The tuxedo cat had been so possessive of her lately, she couldn’t see her taking a newcomer lightly. ‘But maybe I could take the kitten. Just for a while, as a foster.’
‘You don’t have to do that, Dulcie.’ Raleigh sounded very calm for a woman with an asthmatic boyfriend.
‘No, really. I’m sure it will be fine.’ She could keep the kitten in the bathroom, maybe. That would serve as a kind of quarantine, until she could have a vet check the little marmalade out – and until she could convince Esmé that the tiny creature was a friendly visitor, rather than an intruder or prey, and a temporary one at that. ‘I can pick him up, let me see … I’ve got a section, and then a lunch, but—’
‘Dulcie, you don’t have to do this,’ Raleigh interrupted, ‘because I’ve already found a new home for the kitten.’
‘What?’ Dulcie felt like she’d missed something.
‘I just wanted to let you know, because, well, I know how you feel.’ Raleigh was talking slowly, as if explaining something to a child. ‘I’ve heard you, and I know what your fears are. But, honestly, I don’t think in this case your worries are based on anything real. And I do think that little orange furball may do some good. He may even have come into our lives for this very purpose.’
‘No—’ Dulcie tried to interrupt, but Raleigh kept talking. She knew what was coming though. ‘We can’t be sure,’ she tried to say. ‘It’s not safe—’
‘I’ve talked to Lloyd and to Nancy, too, and we really think that this is a mutually beneficial solution, Dulcie.’ Raleigh steamrolled over Dulcie’s objections. ‘Better for everyone, really. You don’t need another cat. I know that. But we all know someone who does. Someone who really could benefit from the comforting, the calming presence of a pet. Dulcie, I’ve given the kitten to Martin Thorpe.’
FORTY-ONE
Dulcie tried every objection she could think of. The kitten could already have an owner, someone who had lost it. But Raleigh had already called the local shelter to inquire about lost pets. The kitten could need veterinary care; Raleigh had already set up a visit for the usual swipes and shots. By the time Raleigh had announced that she was going to hang up, more than five minutes had passed. Dulcie was late. More than that, she was scared.
‘Are you okay, Ms Schwartz?’ Rita, a sophomore, looked concerned.
‘Yes, thanks.’ Dulcie tried to calm herself and gave up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she announced to the eight students facing her. ‘I’ve just got some bad news about a friend.’ That was stretching the truth, but not by much. ‘That’s why I was late.’
The soft sound of sympathy floated up to her, comforting her and reminding Dulcie of why she was there.
‘But enough about me,’ she said, with a forced jollity. ‘Who wants to talk about this week’s reading?’
Nobody did, at least not at that moment. When Nina finally raised her hand again, it wasn’t with the question Dulcie had expected. ‘Yes?’
‘Did your friend get attacked in the Square?’
Dulcie was taken aback for a moment before it hit her. The undergrads would have all received a university police text alert, a warning she would do well to drive home. ‘No, it wasn’t that. However, you have probably heard that something – someone, I mean – has been targeting women in the Square at night.’
Nods all around, and she heard Laurie, in the back, whisper something. ‘Laurie? Do you have a question?’
‘Not exactly, Ms Schwartz.’ The girl looked down at her notebook as if embarrassed. Dulcie waited, and sure enough, she looked back up. ‘Only, can you tell us if there’s any truth to the rumor? We’ve heard that the attacks had something to do with the moon. They’re calling him “the slasher”.’
For a moment, Dulcie lost her place. This was too close to what she had just been thinking. Only, she hadn’t heard that the attacker had a name. And she did have some facts. ‘I think that’s all speculation at this point.’ She was trying for calm. She was, after all, the adult here. ‘There is evidence that the attacks – the initial one, anyway – were domestic in nature. Someone the victims knew.’
More murmurs and nods greeted that news, and Dulcie realized she should wrap this up. ‘But still, this is a city. Please don’t forget that, and use good common sense – especially at night.’
Even as she said it, she realized who she was sounding like. And, it hit her, then, that she knew what she had to do next. Emily might not like it, and Dulcie had to accept the possibility that this would sour their relationship – and close off that source of information. But this wasn’t a game, and Dulcie had a responsibility to the community. As soon as she had met with the junior, Dulcie was going to gather everything she knew. Then she would go talk to Rogovoy.
‘Ms Schwartz.’ Thomas Griddlehaus greeted her at the Mildon entrance. She might not have much time before her lunch, but she’d make use of every minute.
‘Mr Griddlehaus.’ Dulcie smiled as she returned the greeting. ‘I trust you were able to put everything right after yesterday’s … event?’
‘Of course.’ The librarian sounded a bit taken aback, as if Dulcie had questioned his competence. ‘But, thank you for removing … him.’
Dulcie breathed easier as Griddlehaus signed her in and led her to her usual seat. When he deposited the box of papers in front of her and left them for her to sort through, she knew she was back in his good graces.
Of course, it could also have been that he was distracted. ‘So, you seemed to know that … person.’ He was hovering, and not, she was pretty sure, to watch how she removed the first of the five stacked pages.
‘Yes.’ S
he paused after laying out the second page. In part, she was wondering if he would object. She had a good reason: the story had seemed to jump and she was wondering if looking at the text in sequence would help her decipher any of the missing parts. However, what she had done stretched the protocol slightly.
His mind, however, was elsewhere. ‘How curious,’ the little clerk continued. ‘Because, if you don’t mind me saying so, Ms Schwartz, he doesn’t seem like the type whom you would normally befriend.’
Dulcie ducked her head over the first document. It was intended as a compliment; she knew that. What surprised her was the urge to defend the hapless Josh, even though he had broken the library’s most basic rules.
‘He’s not that bad,’ she said, after a brief pause. ‘Really.’ Just then, the library air-filtration system must have kicked in, because she felt a breeze, like a soft brush of fur, by her face. ‘He means well.’
With a shrug and a non-committal noise that sounded like something a small animal would make, Griddlehaus seemed to accept her non-explanation, and when he returned to his desk, she went to work.
‘Be Wary of whom you gift your Trust.’ Thunder rocked the coach, yet still the Stranger’s voice gained her ear. Beyond their near confines, the howls had faded, their Demonic voices taken by the Wind. ‘Fate may afk—’Afk? Ask, of course. Forty-five minutes in, and all she’d gotten were these few lines. Dulcie put her pencil down and closed her eyes.
Concentrating was difficult, however. Partly, Dulcie knew, that was because she had less than an hour before she was due to meet Emily, and thoughts of that lunch were preoccupying her. What had the email meant? Was Professor Showalter really faking her injury or – worse – had she been making up whatever research she had promised to share? Dulcie’s laptop was locked in the cabinet by Griddlehaus’s desk – house rules for the Mildon – and she itched to retrieve it and to check whether the scholar had replied to
