“All this mess you see here is preparation for the faculty bash tomorrow. I hold a regular party here, but we’ll keep it to a properly somber tone tomorrow.”
Sally didn’t say anything as Delilah settled herself at the table, her two hands wrapped around her coffee mug. The rings on each of her fingers were smudged with flour. The unpainted nails started clicking loudly on the ceramic mug.
“Chief, I’m actually glad you’re here. I have something to tell you, and I would have come in on my own initiative, but your request for this interview beat me to it.” Delilah looked straight at Sally, her eyes defiant.
“I’m listening.” She remained far back in her chair as Delilah leaned toward her across the table.
“It’s just that I imagine all possible motives for killing John Barrow are being explored. He wasn’t much liked, so I bet you have a number of motives to pick from.”
“Did you have a motive?” Sally asked.
“No, I didn’t. But I am the chair of the tenure committee and I’m sure you’ve heard about the controversy over whether to grant tenure to him or not.”
“I’m familiar with the situation.”
“One of the reasons some of us didn’t want Barrow to get tenure is because it would make it unlikely Katie Murphy would be put on a tenure track in the English department. She’s clearly more qualified than Barrow.”
“That’s been mentioned.”
“I’ve been sleeping with Katie.”
Delilah kept the defiant look on her face. Sally imagined she was disappointed to not have Sally react with surprise to her news.
“So, because you have a personal relationship with Katie, you have an even greater reason to want to deny tenure to John Barrow.”
“I imagine that’s how it looks, so I wanted to be up front about it. Katie and I have been keeping the relationship quiet until after the tenure vote, which now will never come.” Delilah stared into her coffee mug as a few moments of silence ticked by. Then she looked back at Sally. “Aren’t you going to ask me anything?”
Sally had investigated enough murders and other crimes to know that a variety of techniques were used by people to throw suspicion off of themselves, or, for the attention seekers, onto themselves. If you are guilty of something, you might bring up the thing that makes you look most suspicious simply to make yourself look like someone who isn’t guilty. She knew this could be true of Delilah. Sally thought it more likely, however, that Delilah didn’t much like the fact that she wasn’t playing a significant role in the college drama. Her commanding position as the chair of the tenure committee was now less relevant, her fabled faculty party was co-opted as a memorial party, and her girlfriend did not need her influence any longer.
“So if I understand what you’re saying, Professor, the fact that John Barrow was likely to become tenured upset you because it would hurt Katie’s chances of obtaining tenure.”
“Yes, that and the fact that it’s a step toward lowering the overall quality of our faculty. That reflects on all of us.”
“And this made you angry?”
“It did. It most definitely did. I guess the question really is whether it’s the kind of thing that would anger one enough to kill? What do you think, Chief?”
“I think that people in academia take things far more seriously than outsiders ever imagined. I’m starting to see that. And I’ve seen lesser motives for murder. But I think the question at this moment is whether it angered you enough to kill.”
Delilah looked pleased with the discourse. Sally didn’t doubt that Delilah expected to find Sally to be bumpkinish, unworthy of intellectual feint and parry.
“You’re right, of course. I can tell you, Chief, that it angered me a good deal. But murdering John Barrow accords him more importance than I think he deserves. He wouldn’t be worth the risk, the bother.”
“That makes it sound like some people would be worth the risk and the bother.”
“I’m afraid my habit of being glib makes me appear to be unfeeling. I’m not. I’m sorry that anyone here at the college has been murdered, even John Barrow. And I admit that I’m crazy about Katie.”
“Would you please tell me where you were last night between nine p.m. and midnight?”
The kitchen timer rang and Delilah got up to take a tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven, moving the cookies onto a wire rack and starting to scoop more dough onto the cookie sheet. She seemed lost in the task.
“Delilah, you haven’t answered my question. What were you doing last night?”
“Oh, was that question for real?” Delilah opened the oven door and slid the new tray in. “Well, one thing I did last evening was go over to the Hy-Vee for some of these ingredients, and while I was there I saw your friend Dean Ellis and Mel getting supplies for a cozy night in.”
Even though Sally already knew this, the mention of it made her feel a little queasy. The last time she’d had this kind of visceral reaction to a woman, she’d ended up in a long relationship, one that was beautiful while it lasted but very ugly as it ended.
“I guess there must be a point in you telling me this?”
“You like her, don’t you?” Delilah looked over at Sally, who sat. “Just call it a sixth sense, but I can tell you two would be perfect together. Mel is a problem, though. She beds as many women in town as she can, keeps them all wanting more, and you never know how deep she’s got her claws in. I think Beth’s been under her spell for a long time.”
“I’ll ask you now for a third time—where were you last night? And I want an answer.”
“Oh, lighten up, Chief. I’m just having some fun with you. Last night I was with Katie from about eight o’clock on, and she left here first thing in the morning. I suppose you could confirm that with her, but I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it to yourself. I know she wants to keep our relationship a secret until this whole thing settles a bit.”
Sally got up to leave. “Thank you for your time. If you think of anything further, please call me at the station.”
Delilah walked Sally to the door. “Chief, I hope you’ll come to my party tomorrow. Wouldn’t it be a good opportunity to observe, get to know the players a bit more?”
“Sure, I’ll stop by. I won’t stay long, though.”
Delilah smiled. “Wonderful. And, Chief? I wouldn’t worry about Beth and Mel too much.”
“What makes you think I’m worried at all?”
“You see, I used to date Beth. Not for terribly long, but it was intense. She has a way of going for something all-out, and then walking away without a second thought. Chances are she’ll get sick of Mel at some point.”
Sally shook her head as she trotted down the front steps. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She got into her squad car and pulled into the street, irritated by Delilah’s teasing, flabbergasted at the thought of Delilah and Beth together. She was less willing to acknowledge how irritating she found the idea of Mel with Beth.
Chapter Nine
Beth ran as fast as her moccasins would allow, heading straight into the eye of the storm rather than away from it. It was counterintuitive, she knew, like steering into a spin when you’ve lost control of your car. There always seemed to be chaos wherever her mother was and right now things at Grafton College were quite chaotic enough on their own. Her mother had a way of inserting herself into the middle of every situation she came upon, charming everyone along her path and leaving Beth feeling lumpy and dull. She didn’t think she could cope with it this time.
Mae had only been to Mount Avery once before to visit Beth, dropping in unannounced ten years earlier after attending an “industry convention” in Chicago. Beth recalled looking over the panels and workshops in the program her mother kept as a souvenir, trying to imagine attending any of them. “Management Ethics: How to Get the Most From the Best Girls,” which sounded a little suspect in the ethics department. A panel called “When Do You Run That Charge Card?” discussed, according to its
description, whether it was better to have the front desk come in with the card charger when the employee and her client were in flagrante delicto, and thus more likely to be adding on some services, or during some negotiation when the client arrived at the ranch. The program was nearly as thick as the one for the Modern Language Association convention Beth attended annually, and there any resemblance ended. Mae spent most of the twenty-four hours of her visit asleep, recovering, she said, from the endless “networking” they were forced to do.
As she turned the corner onto First Avenue, Beth saw the Escalade in her driveway, her mother standing at the rear of the giant vehicle, dwarfed by it, yanking on a large hard-sided suitcase that would hold enough clothing for a long stay. Mae Ellis was a small woman, just 5233 and not much over 100 pounds. She was stylishly dressed in the sort of travel suit ladies of a certain age might wear their first day at sea on a luxury cruise: comfortable but perfectly coordinated, every detail and accessory carefully thought out. Her elegant appearance was at odds with the string of profanity being directed at the suitcase she was wrestling to the ground.
Beth practically screeched to a halt next to the car, reaching a hand forward to lift the suitcase back in the car.
“No point in taking the bag out of the car, Mae. You’re not staying here.” She’d always called her Mae, since she was a tiny girl. Mae didn’t feel the word “mother” should be used in the brothel. She was concerned it would make the clients uncomfortable. Beth was mostly kept out of sight for the same reason, though once she was old enough to look after herself she was free to go wherever she liked. Mae’s determination of a child being old enough to take care of herself came much earlier than most parents’. At eight Beth could pretty much come and go as she pleased, though the lack of places to go limited her freedom. Her mother certainly didn’t.
Mae stepped back and stared at Beth, her mouth open and her hand at her chest. “Where the hell did you come from? It’s like you popped out of the sky.”
“I’d say it’s more like you popped out of the sky,” Beth said. She shoved the suitcase into the rear of the car and slammed the hatch shut. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting you, obviously. Or trying to. I’m on my way east and wanted to see you.”
“Well, you can’t stay here.”
“Beth, I can’t leave. Not just yet. I’ve driven twelve hours today and I’m tired.”
Mae opened the hatch again and yanked at the suitcase until it teetered at the edge of the cargo area and then fell to the ground.
“I don’t understand why you’re here. Couldn’t you have told me you were planning this? We just talked on the phone the other day.”
“I could have, but I wanted to surprise you.”
“Score one for you, then. It’s just that you’ve arrived at the worst possible time.” Beth reached down to pick up the suitcase and Mae moved to block her by standing on it.
“Relax, Beth. If there’s trouble, I can help you. I’m very good with trouble.” Beth laughed out loud at that, thinking truer words were rarely spoken.
Out of the corner of her eye Beth could see her neighbor Stephanie come out of her house and head down the drive to retrieve her garbage can from the street. As soon as she saw Beth she made a beeline over to join them by the Escalade.
“It’s Mrs. Ellis, isn’t it?” Stephanie asked, reaching over to shake Mae’s hand. “How nice of you to be here for the dean during this very difficult time.”
Mae’s eyebrow went up and she turned back to Beth. “What is going on?”
Stephanie leaned in, unwilling to let Beth tell the news once it became clear that Mae hadn’t heard it. “One of the faculty was murdered last night. The whole campus is in an uproar.”
Beth gave Stephanie a stern look before moving her mother off the suitcase with one hand and then picking it up with the other. “I think I’ll just get Mother inside, Stephanie, if you wouldn’t mind excusing us.”
“Of course. It’s all very upsetting, I know. But don’t you worry about the dean, Mrs. Ellis. She’s got all sorts of people looking out for her, including the police chief.”
Beth gave her neighbor a murderous glare before turning to her mother.
“Come on. We’ll get the rest of your things in a bit.” Beth hauled the suitcase toward her front door with Mae at her heels, aiming her key fob over her shoulder to lock her car doors. Beth could hear Stephanie shuffling in her slippers back into her own house, eager, no doubt, to get on the phone and tell whoever would listen that Beth’s mother had come for a visit and Beth didn’t seem any too pleased about it. Since Beth became dean, Stephanie found every aspect of Beth’s life to have some social or political importance. She was the widow of a college administrator and naturally suspicious of the academic. If only Stephanie knew the whole story. That Mae was visiting from Liaisons Fantastique Pleasure Ranch located sixty miles outside of Las Vegas, where prostitution was perfectly legal but still as stigmatized as when ladies of a much earlier time served the “needs” of the miners in the area. Beth didn’t doubt that Stephanie would have plenty of listeners for news like that.
Once inside the house Beth carried the suitcase down the short hallway leading to the bedrooms. The guest room was across the hall from Beth’s room. The third bedroom at the end of the hall was used as a study. Beth flung the heavy suitcase on the guest room bed.
“You’re welcome to stay tonight. God knows I don’t want you driving into a ditch. I don’t know how you even drive that ridiculous car. You look like a peanut behind the wheel.”
“I want to stay a few nights. I’m not expected in New York until next week.”
“It’s too much. I can’t do that.”
“Why is it too much? I’m just going to sit around. You don’t even have to talk to me.”
“Right.” Beth knew her mother didn’t understand, wasn’t capable of understanding. She barely understood herself why merely being near her felt so triggery. She felt anxious, a little short of breath. She wanted to relax around Mae and just enjoy the maddening, outrageous person she was. She wasn’t going to change. She certainly would never become a candidate for Mother of the Year. But wanting to relax and be herself around her mother and actually being able to do it were very different things. Beth also wanted world peace and an end to hunger. None of these things seemed like they’d ever actually happen.
Beth made to leave the room, but Mae again blocked her way, standing at the door, legs apart and fists on her hips.
“Jesus H. Christ, you are a brat. Do you know that?”
“I’m sorry, Mother, am I not acting the way you want me to? Sorry to irritate you.”
“I don’t know how it is that you don’t irritate yourself.”
“Oh, I do. Believe me.”
Mae relaxed a hip and a smile raised one corner of her mouth. She reached out to Beth and took her gently by the forearm, pulling her down with her to sit on the bed. “What was that woman talking about, a murder on campus?”
Mae settled in to listen to a good story. She’d want all the details, and she’d get them. Beth would give way to the inevitable. She’d succumb, as everyone did, to Mae’s persuasiveness, no matter how uncomfortable or anxious she felt. Growing up, Beth could count on only a few minutes a day with her mother, usually the time after school when the yellow bus dropped Beth off a half mile from the ranch. When Beth walked into the kitchen in the small private residence they shared, her mother would be sitting at the table, yawning from the nap she’d just woken from, her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. She’d pour some for Beth, having practically weaned her from breast milk to caffeine, and then have Beth tell her stories from her day. Not snippets of this or that, but stories with a beginning, middle, and end. Usually the stories featured villains, the nasty kids who teased her about what her mother did for a living. It made for a Dickensian childhood, but Mae was fascinated by the stories and usually she found a way to turn them around in order to ridicule or pity B
eth’s tormentors. The attention from Mae made the teasing at school easier to take, and the temptation to embellish the stories or simply make them up was almost impossible to resist.
As long as Beth didn’t whine, Mae would be sympathetic and would advise her on how to handle bullies, cliques, and the occasional friend. If Beth whined about the difficulties at school, her mother would walk out of the room. She had no time for victims. Now Beth found herself telling Mae her latest horror story from school, the entire background on John Barrow and President Landscome, and the little that was known at this point about the murder and its investigation.
“See, this is the thing, Bethy. You have always thought that your world of faculties and PhDs and elevated thinking would be like living in a cloister. The one murder we had at the ranch wasn’t even as nasty as this is. Do you remember that?”
“It would be a little hard to forget.”
“Isn’t that the truth? But really, when you think about it, it was just an old-fashioned gunfight over a woman. It was just like High Noon there in the lounge.”
“ High Noon without the moral imperative, you mean. I just remember coming in to get a soda from Ernie and all of a sudden the bar stools went flying and there was a little popping sound and this big fat guy fell over like a redwood. Then Ernie had me by the collar and out of that room.”
“Ernie was a wonderful man, wasn’t he? May he rest in peace.”
“What happened to him again? You told me, but I can’t remember.” Half the time when Mae called, Beth continued to work and heard only bits and pieces of her mother’s news reports.
“It was prostate cancer. I swear, that’s an epidemic and it’s affecting my business. You know, once the disease progresses men have a hell of a time with an erection. Gets so they don’t even try, and that’s not good for us.”
Veritas Page 10
