by Clea Simon
He looked up. Without the thick lenses, his eyes looked small and rather swollen. Dulcie wondered if he’d been crying.
‘Mr Griddlehaus,’ she tried again, making her voice softer. ‘Did you see anybody in Fenderby’s office? Did anyone go in after you?’
He shook his head and looked down at the ground, before carefully hitching the glasses back around his ears. ‘No, I’m afraid I didn’t see anyone,’ he said. ‘His wife – his widow now, poor soul – had been by earlier. I believe she may have brought him lunch. He was trying to lose weight, you know. I believe they had words about it – about his diet. Her voice was raised, which is how I knew who it was. And I – well, I didn’t want to intrude, and so I waited until she left before I knocked on his door.’
‘But you saw her leave?’ Dulcie felt there was something she wasn’t getting. Some pattern she didn’t see.
‘Yes, I did.’ Griddlehaus nodded. ‘I thought about approaching her. I thought, perhaps, she might be willing to act as an intermediary with her husband.’
‘And did you?’
‘No.’ He looked at the ground. ‘The poor woman appeared upset, and so I hung back and busied myself with one of the reshelving bins, until I was sure she’d passed by. I didn’t want to appear as if I’d been eavesdropping, so I gave poor professor a few minutes before I went to his office.’
‘And you brought the book into him.’ Dulcie felt she was missing something in the morning’s chronology. ‘And, clearly, he was still alive.’
‘Alive, yes. Of course.’ Griddlehaus blinked at the memory. ‘Only I didn’t actually go into his office, you see. He had closed the door again, by then. But he heard me knock and he stepped out, closing the door behind him. The officers asked me that as well as whether anybody else had been around. Only I— well, I didn’t want to get anybody in trouble.’
‘Mr Griddlehaus.’ Dulcie didn’t want to make the quiet man feel worse. Surely, he had to realize his own reputation – his own freedom – was on the line. ‘This may be important.’
He nodded. ‘I didn’t tell the officer, partly because it seemed inconsequential at the time. But Tom Walls was working in the stacks.’ He looked up at Dulcie, his eyes once again both bright and oversized. ‘He was watching as I came out, Ms Schwartz, half hidden behind one of the stacks. I think he was waiting for something. Or for someone.’
TWENTY
‘I knew it!’ Dulcie wasn’t yelling, far from it, but the force of her expostulation caused Griddlehaus to roll his chair back. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But I knew Tom was up to something. He’s who I was looking for yesterday when I found the anthology.’
‘When you found it?’ The librarian shook his head. ‘But I thought – the police led me to believe – it had been instrumental in, well, in …’
‘Yes, I believe it was.’ Dulcie cut off his obvious distress. ‘But it had been reshelved. Badly reshelved,’ she said for emphasis.
‘Well, it can’t have been Tom, then.’ Griddlehaus said it as if the conclusion were self-evident. ‘He wouldn’t have put it in the wrong section. He’s a trained member of the staff.’
‘No, don’t you see?’ Dulcie appreciated Griddlehaus’s quaint worldview. At this moment, however, she needed him to see the larger implications. ‘I think it was intentional. That he deliberately misshelved it so that nobody would find it. Perhaps he was acting quickly – you know, he had to get rid of the evidence.’
Griddlehaus’s blinking had become more rapid, his face white. Dulcie needed to dial it back a bit. ‘I don’t believe he was thinking like a proper library clerk,’ she explained. ‘Rather, he was hoping to hide something that might be crucial to solving the crime.’
‘Of course.’ Griddlehaus nodded. ‘So you think that he … that Professor Fenderby …’
‘Yes,’ Dulcie said.
‘But why?’ Griddlehaus voiced the question she had no answer for.
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t even know that he did – the deed. But I do know that he’s involved. Do you remember my cousin, Mina Love?’
The librarian nodded.
‘She – well, she had an ongoing conflict with Professor Fenderby, and she was in the library that morning, too.’ Dulcie paused. ‘Briefly, anyway. You didn’t see her. Did you?’
He shook his head. ‘Not unless – might she have been in with Fenderby?’
‘Not likely.’ Dulcie wanted to continue. ‘Anyway, Tom was supposed to keep tabs on her.’ Dulcie waved away Griddlehaus’s attempted interruption. ‘It’s a long story, but she had asked him to be aware of her when she was down there. It was – a safety thing.’ That was weak, but it was the best she could do.
‘Anyway, because of that, Mina explained that Tom could vouch for her. Only, for some reason, he’s now saying he can’t. That he isn’t sure if she was here that morning, or not. I mean, it wasn’t like she’d stop working, run into Fenderby’s office and bash him over the head, and then scoot back to her carrel before he turned the next corner, is it?’
Griddlehaus drew back at that, and Dulcie realized that perhaps she’d gotten a bit carried away. Still, he couldn’t argue with the logic of her version.
‘No.’ He looked as if he were chewing it over. ‘No, I don’t think it is. And I confess, the reluctance on Tom’s part is, at the very least, ungentlemanly. He’s always seemed like such a gallant young lad, too.’
Dulcie nodded. Before all of this had started, the junior had distinguished himself primarily by his silent, but obvious crushes. The way he would blush, and the gestures he would make were worthy of an undergrad Sir Walter Raleigh. If he had become fixated on Mina, it might explain an attack on Fenderby. But why, then, would he let her be implicated?
Before Dulcie could reason that one out, Griddlehaus turned toward her again.
‘This prior conflict is the reason the police are looking at your cousin?’
‘Basically.’ Dulcie pondered. ‘Or, no, there’s more. Someone – another undergrad – said she saw a woman down there. A redhead. That’s one of the reasons the police wanted to talk to me.’
‘They spoke to you?’ Griddlehaus’s eyes went wide in astonishment. ‘But you can’t be – that doesn’t make sense.’
‘What?’ She was missing something. ‘Please, tell me.’
‘One of the officers sensed my distress. Not your friend – the large gentleman – but a younger officer. He made a point of telling me that although I was being questioned, I needn’t have any undue fears. That, in fact, the investigation was proceeding in another direction.’
‘Another …’ Dulcie had a sinking feeling in her belly.
‘Yes.’ Griddlehaus nodded, his voice going soft. ‘I believe he mentioned a task force? But, Ms Schwartz,’ he paused, his large eyes staring into hers. ‘Didn’t you want to tell me something? I thought, perhaps, you had found something in your research?’
The change – the possessive, singular phrase ‘my daughter’ – it all came back to her. As did her cousin’s situation: a known, comprehensible motive that could implicate them both.
‘It doesn’t really matter, Mr Griddlehaus,’ she said, shaking her head sadly. ‘I should really focus on my dissertation. Assuming, that is, that I will get to present it at all.’
TWENTY-ONE
The rest of the morning was a blur, and by the time Griddlehaus mentioned his own impending lunch break, Dulcie realized that she should probably make a point of eating something as well. Although the idea of food didn’t appeal, a change of scene or maybe some fresh air might help her figure out what to do next.
It wasn’t that what she had found didn’t matter. It did, and despite what she had told Griddlehaus, she knew she would want to go back to it. That correction – that faded discrepancy – could be the key she had sought so long to both her subject’s identity and their strange connection. But if she had any time now – any time before the police made their case against herself or against her cousin – she s
hould use it for the work at hand. She had promised too many people; she had promised herself. She would focus on finishing her dissertation.
Simply going through the notes she had made during her three hours in the Mildon would keep her busy. She had checked her few facts, and once she added the clarifications and filled out the quotes her chapter would be as solid as any peer review board could reasonably expect. It was time to buckle down.
And so with only the most cursory farewell to Griddlehaus, she had packed her notes up and left, even ducking her head down to avoid Ruby’s gaze as she exited the library. She didn’t like blowing off her friends, but duty beckoned. Adding to the spur of her conscience was the glowing symbol on her phone as she powered back up. One call missed: Renée Showalter.
‘Dulcie, I heard!’ The Canadian professor’s voice sounded so full of concern that Dulcie felt her eyes welling up. ‘I’m so sorry! Please call me back as soon as is convenient.’
A sympathetic ear would do more for her than lunch, and Dulcie settled down on the library’s stone steps to return her mentor’s call.
‘Professor Showalter?’ She couldn’t help sniffing as she spoke. ‘Dulcie Schwartz.’
‘You poor thing!’ The professor sounded like she was outdoors. Dulcie could hear voices and a truck backing up. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Uh huh.’ Dulcie nodded. Although she was brushing away a stray tear, she already felt better. ‘It’s just been so horrible. Fenderby …’
‘You don’t have to say it,’ the professor interrupted. ‘It’s inconceivable. How anyone could act like that.’
‘I know.’ The righteous anger was invigorating, too. ‘And to think that I had something to do with it.’
‘No!’ The voice on the line sounded shocked. ‘Why – how could you?’
‘I know.’ Dulcie had never felt so vindicated.
‘As soon as I’m out there, I’ll clear this up,’ said Showalter. ‘Though maybe that won’t even be necessary.’
‘Thank you.’ Dulcie leaned back against the step behind her, overcome with relief. The traffic sounds on the line were getting louder. ‘Thank you,’ she repeated, not sure if her words had been drowned out by that honking cab. ‘When do you think you’ll get out here?’
‘I’m hoping to come down within the next few days.’ Showalter was shouting now. ‘I’ll probably be back and forth for a while, but I’ll talk to Fenderby first thing.’
‘Wait– what?’ Dulcie didn’t know if she was hearing correctly. That beeping truck, the traffic … ‘I thought you said you knew?’
‘That Fenderby was directing all your research material to some undergrad?’ The traffic noise had gotten louder. ‘Don’t worry, Dulcie. I’m on it.’
With one more shout – ‘call you when I get in!’ – she was gone, leaving Dulcie feeling more alone than before. All around her, the campus was coming back to life. The trees were in bud, the undergrads laughing as they made their way to class or, more likely, one of the college dining halls. Dulcie knew she ought to text the professor. It wouldn’t do for her to find out only after she arrived. Only somehow the effort to key in the crucial words was just too much right now. As she sat there, staring at the phone in her hand, it seemed to take on a life of its own, buzzing.
‘Dulcie?’ It had taken her a moment to answer it, the occasion of a live call in real time taking her by surprise.
‘Trista.’ Dulcie closed her eyes. She was too tired to deal with one of Trista’s conspiracy theories right then. ‘I can’t—’ She stopped. Maybe Trista, with her subversive attitude, would be just the person she needed to help clear her name – as well as her cousin’s, from the shadow of guilt and insinuation.
‘Where are you?’ she asked, instead.
‘We’ve got to talk to Tom.’ A half hour later, they were huddled over a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies, and Trista had taken the lead. ‘Find out where he was when you were down there, and what he knows about that book you found.’
It was after noon, but Dulcie hadn’t felt like anything more substantial. As she sat looking at the plate, she realized that, for once, she didn’t even really want sweets.
‘I should be able to get him to talk,’ Trista was saying.
Dulcie nodded, happy to let her friend take charge. Trista did have a way with men. And after all, she had promised Suze that she wouldn’t try to confront the junior.
‘I just want to understand why …’ Dulcie didn’t finish the sentence. She could feel Trista’s eyes on her. ‘I wonder if he’s the undergrad who was getting access to the papers in the Mildon?’
‘The Mildon?’ Trista sounded skeptical. ‘Let’s focus on the bigger problem, shall we?’
‘Sorry.’ Dulcie slumped in her seat. ‘It all kind of runs together for me.’
‘Of course it does.’ Her friend pushed the plate her way. ‘But come on, you don’t want these to get cold. They’re your favorites.’
‘Thanks,’ Dulcie broke off a piece, but then just crumbled it into her napkin. ‘I just wish … I told you what Showalter said, right?’
Trista nodded. Dulcie had. Twice.
‘If everyone knows this, then it makes sense for people to look at me. I mean, taking away my research material? Suze is working on the legality of their move, but as far as it being a motive for …’
‘Enough.’ Trista reached across the table to take her friend’s hand. ‘It’s a violation. I know that, but you can get past it, Dulcie. You’re strong enough.’
The friends sat in silence. Dulcie, finally, nibbled a corner of the cookie. The chocolate was still molten soft. Sticky. She thought of the book – of the brown mess – and put the rest of the fragment back down.
‘This is hopeless, Tris,’ she said, shaking her head in resignation. ‘Everything we find out just seems to point back to either me or Mina.’
‘Mina?’ Trista perked up. ‘Your cousin, Mina Love?’
Dulcie nodded. ‘She had a beef with Fenderby.’ She glanced up. Trista was nodding, her mouth set in a grim line. ‘And now it looks like she’s a suspect.’
‘That bastard,’ Trista said. It was a bit of a non sequitur, but Dulcie didn’t mind. ‘Don’t worry,’ Trista continued. ‘Mina will be fine. That creep isn’t going to hurt any more young women.’
Dulcie paused, looking at their friend. As much as she appreciated Trista’s confidence, that was a strong statement, even for her. But Trista only responded with her own question.
‘I wonder who Showalter was talking about? Do you have any idea?’
Dulcie shook her head. ‘I thought I was the only one interested in that material.’
Trista waved the thought away. ‘That probably doesn’t matter. We’ve got to focus not on whom Fenderby was helping, but on whom he’d ticked off. Didn’t you say his wife was there?’
‘She left before Griddlehaus talked to Fenderby. Probably walked in with him.’ They both knew how it went: tenured professors often escorted non-university personnel on to university property. ‘Griddlehaus saw her go.’
‘Maybe a protective boyfriend, then, or some poor girl who didn’t want his attention.’
Dulcie couldn’t help herself. She looked up in alarm.
‘Not you.’ Trista looked confused for a moment. Then she shook her head. ‘Mina. Poor girl. Boy, that man was a creep.’
‘So you can see why she’s a suspect.’ Dulcie felt both relieved and a bit guilty that her cousin’s secret was out. It wasn’t like she’d said anything. Trista had simply put two and two together. ‘And why I am too. Especially since the cops are looking for a redhead.’
‘There are other redheads on campus.’ Trista was trying to cheer her up. ‘Not to mention in Cambridge. And Alyson didn’t positively identify either of you, did she?’
‘No.’ Something was niggling at Dulcie. ‘But Griddlehaus— Bother!’ The word burst out of her.
‘That little …’ Trista leaned in. ‘He didn’t say you were there, did he? Dulci
e you can tell me.’
‘No, it’s what he didn’t say.’ Dulcie glanced up at her friend. ‘What I didn’t think to ask.’
Her friend shook her head quizzically, and so Dulcie continued. ‘I told you, Griddlehaus went to Fenderby’s office to give him that book. He was going to try to talk him into freeing up the papers in the Mildon, the ones Fenderby had put aside and locked me out of. Well, it seems obvious that’s how the book got into Fenderby’s office – only Mr Griddlehaus never actually set foot inside. He said Fenderby met him at the door and put him off. Closed the door behind him. Fenderby had someone in there, I bet. Someone who came by after the wife left. Someone he didn’t want anyone to see.’
‘Someone who took that book and beaned him with it.’ Trista sounded a little too enthusiastic for Dulcie’s taste. Then again, Trista hadn’t seen the body.
‘Well, yes.’ Dulcie coughed. A bit of the cookie had lodged in her throat. ‘In a word. I wonder – I hope it wasn’t Mina.’
Trista looked up, quizzical.
‘Mina was in the library that morning, but only briefly. She could have snuck in, while Griddlehaus was waiting for the wife to leave the building,’ Dulcie explained, the edge of doubt creeping in. ‘And if she left right after … before I got there. But why would she? She didn’t want to be alone with that man. And whoever it was—’
‘Tom Walls would have seen her,’ Trista finished her sentence. ‘Or him. Tom Walls is key.’
They didn’t have a plan, or not much of one. Trista was simply going to seek the timid junior out, hoping to get him to explain the many circumstances that were piling up.
‘I’ll use the old feminine wiles on him,’ Trista raised one pierced eyebrow at Dulcie.
‘Don’t go too far.’ Dulcie warned. ‘I mean, he’s just a kid.’
Another arched brow from her friend. ‘I’ll be gentle, Dulcie. Besides, I think he likes blondes.’
