Into the Grey

by Clea Simon

  ‘Alyson didn’t try to harm herself. She was poisoned,’ Dulcie repeated now. ‘As was I.’ It was hard to enjoy the luxury of a cab when it jolted so. Still, the fresh air coming through the open window helped counter the movement. It also reminded her of the view from Alyson’s apartment. ‘I wonder if she’ll get out today?’

  ‘Dulcie, please.’ Chris put his hand over hers. ‘She’s not your concern any more. Especially not …’

  He caught himself, but it was too late. Dulcie closed her eyes. There had been no answer to her email when she’d checked this morning. Nothing from Thorpe, nor from the dean. She was still on disciplinary probation.

  ‘Detective Rogovoy, please.’ Despite Chris’s offer to seek out the detective himself, Dulcie made herself walk up to the reception area. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Chris, but that she feared his skepticism might translate somehow. What was it Alyson had said? It was so easy to judge people by their appearance – and Chris’s pale face tended to broadcast his emotions.

  Rogovoy’s, however, was usually as stolid as granite. He was looking past her as he emerged from his lair, though, so maybe it was surprise at seeing her boyfriend that provoked the slight rise of his eyebrows.

  ‘Ms Schwartz.’ His voice was a grumble. ‘Mr Sorenson. My office, please.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Dulcie had requested this meeting, so the feeling – hard to shake – that she was being summoned to a dean’s office for a talking-to didn’t make much sense. To counter it, and reclaim the upper hand, she began to speak as soon as he had shut the door behind them.

  ‘You undoubtedly know that Alyson Beaumont was admitted to health services yesterday,’ she said. ‘What you don’t know is that I was sickened last night, as well, most likely by something that I ate at Alyson’s off-campus apartment. And while I don’t have any conclusive evidence of who might be trying to poison Alyson, I do have reason to believe there is collusion between her and another undergrad, Tom Walls. He—’

  ‘Wait a moment.’ Rogovoy’s big hand came up like a stop sign. ‘You were at Ms Beaumont’s apartment?’

  ‘She has a cat,’ said Dulcie. ‘A kitten, really.’

  He nodded, as if he really did understand.

  ‘I didn’t know she was going over there,’ Chris broke in. ‘I would have stopped her.’

  ‘You would have— Wait.’ Dulcie turned to face her boyfriend. ‘Have you two been talking about me? Are you trying to control me?’

  ‘Not control, exactly.’ Chris reached out as if he would take her hand, but Dulcie drew back.

  ‘I can’t believe you.’ She had rarely felt so betrayed. ‘I trusted you.’

  ‘Dulcie, I—’

  ‘Ms Schwartz.’ The detective’s booming voice interrupted them both. ‘It was my idea to reach out to Mr Sorenson, and you should be grateful.’ He paused. Dulcie could only stare. ‘You are not helping. In fact, you are putting yourself at risk. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, please do not conduct your own “investigations”.’ He accentuated his final word with his fingers, making little air quotes. ‘You are not trained for this kind of work, and your involvement both hinders the efforts of those who are and endangers you and other bystanders.’

  ‘Well, then.’ Dulcie could feel the blush climbing up her cheeks. ‘I guess I have no choice. But at least I’m honest.’

  Chris’s brow had knitted up as if he might cry. Right then, Dulcie didn’t care.

  ‘I assume you have no objection if I provide the minimal amount of pet care,’ she continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Seeing as how Ms Beaumont herself asked me to?’

  ‘I believe Ms Beaumont is being released today,’ said Rogovoy, his own voice calm and, now, rather quiet. ‘Therefore, the problem is moot, and so I reiterate, Ms Schwartz, please, focus on your own work.’

  ‘If I could …’ It was a complaint, nothing more, but Rogovoy perked up at it.

  ‘I believe I may be able to help you there,’ he said. ‘Call it an acknowledgment of your good intentions. In fact, I’ll call the dean as soon as we finish up here. Do we have a deal?’

  Dulcie looked from the stone-faced detective to her own boyfriend. In neither did she see any alternative. ‘Deal,’ she said at last, and rose to go.

  ‘Dulcie, you’ve got to understand …’ Chris was talking to her as she strode out, easily keeping pace despite her best efforts to leave him in her metaphorical dust. ‘You’ve never— There’s a special—’ He stepped in front of her, forcing her to stop. ‘Detective Rogovoy is worried about you.’

  Dulcie glowered at him, but didn’t respond. Arguing was difficult while maintaining this pace, and when her phone rang, she was grateful for an excuse to turn aside – toward an elegant wrought-iron fence – and answer, as if Chris was not even there.

  ‘Hello?’ She struggled to keep her voice even. No way did she want Chris to hear how breathless she had become.

  ‘Dulcie!’ The voice on the other end was excited. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you!’

  ‘Professor Showalter!’ Dulcie leaned on the fence, relief leaving her exhausted. ‘You wouldn’t believe what’s been going on.’

  ‘I have some idea,’ her mentor said. ‘I’ve spoken with the dean – and with your thesis adviser as well.’

  ‘Oh?’ Dulcie stood up. Somehow she had never imagined that Showalter and Thorpe would talk.

  ‘Of course,’ the Canadian professor continued. ‘As soon as I heard about Fenderby, I got in touch with your department. I thought, this can’t wait until I’m actually on campus.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ said Dulcie. She looked up at Chris and even smiled. ‘With you on my dissertation committee, everything will go so much more smoothly. You’re the only one who understands—’

  ‘Wait, Dulcie,’ the voice on the phone interrupted her. ‘I think you may have the wrong idea.’

  ‘You’re not going to take his place on my committee?’ Dulcie couldn’t believe her ears.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Showalter. ‘That’s not what I was asking about. What I’ve been looking into – and what I was querying the department about – was the segregation of papers.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about that.’ Dulcie tried to temper her disappointment. Professor Showalter was championing her, she was just a little behind the times. ‘I’ve already gotten access to the segregated box – number 978 to be exact. In fact, I found something very interesting in one of the documents.’

  Dulcie paused, waiting for her mentor’s curiosity to mount. The response that followed was not what she expected.

  ‘I’m sure it was, Dulcie,’ said the professor. ‘But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. And, in fact, although I do not yet have any standing to do so, I would advise you not to delve into that box any more. Not until the investigation has been closed. You see, I had an unusual call after I spoke with the dean and then Mr Thorpe. It seems my queries had triggered some kind of alarm with your university security services, and I found myself the object of some rather disturbing questions. My own went unanswered, as is too often the case. But it doesn’t take a detective to unravel what was going on. And, Dulcie? I am hoping you can avoid any further entanglement with them. I believe those pages are somehow linked to the murder of Professor Fenderby.’

  THIRTY-THREE

  ‘I can’t believe Chris betrayed me.’ An hour later, tucked into the couch with a mug of weak tea, Dulcie was still feeling a bit weak herself, as well as peeved. Esmé, who had been bathing when she started to speak, appeared unfazed. Chris had done what he could to make amends for his betrayal, escorting her home and pampering her, and that seemed to be enough for the chubby tuxedo at the foot of the sofa. Then again, thought Dulcie, cats are born with a natural skepticism. ‘He actually colluded with Detective Rogovoy behind my back.’

  ‘Men?’ The thought – half enunciated as a soft mew – came to Dulcie as a question, and she immediately felt a stab of remorse
.

  ‘I don’t want to turn you against an entire gender,’ she said. ‘I mean, some men are reliable.’ She searched her mind for examples. Her father, for example, had always meant well. He had simply gone off the grid when Dulcie was still quite young. And Lloyd had always seemed quite a respectful and responsible partner to his girlfriend Raleigh. And hadn’t Alyson’s boyfriend given her that lovely marmalade kitten, Penny?

  ‘Mrrrup?’ The bat of a paw, with just an edge of claw, interrupted Dulcie’s thoughts. It must have been the praise for another feline that Esmé had picked up. The little tuxedo had a hard enough time dealing with Dulcie’s love for her predecessor. Maybe it was just as well that Mr Grey seemed to be receding from her life. If Dulcie was going to truly commit to Esmé, maybe she had to accept that her great, grey cat was no longer with her. That Esmé and Esmé alone was her pet, even as the cat sat with her back toward Dulcie, ignoring her as only a feline could.

  ‘I am sorry, Principessa Esmeralda,’ apologized Dulcie, using the cat’s full title to show deference. ‘I haven’t paid you proper respect, have I? No wonder you’ve been acting out.’ She stopped. Something about the pose – the sight of the cat’s back, especially as she jumped to the ground and sauntered away, turning a deaf ear to Dulcie’s voice. The memorial – before Alyson had fainted – Dulcie pictured the scene. Pictured Tom Walls walking away.

  ‘I can’t believe I didn’t think of this,’ she said, grabbing her jacket. ‘It must have been because I was sick too. Thanks,’ she called to the retreating feline. ‘Thank you, Esmé!’

  Throwing her bag over her shoulder, Dulcie ran for the door. She had to catch Alyson before she was released from the health services – before she went back to her own apartment. What was it the junior had said about her classmate – about Tom Walls? That he was ‘obsessed’? He must have known she had a boyfriend. Maybe he never intended to hurt her – maybe his target was Alyson’s secret love – but at this point it didn’t matter. Someone had sickened Alyson – had poisoned her – and Dulcie was pretty sure she knew who.

  Turning on her phone as she raced down the stairs, Dulcie saw that a text had come in. Thorpe had called another meeting, she read. There was no agenda given, but it was promising that he’d even reached out. Torn between hope – had Showalter gotten through to him? Had Rogovoy? – and fear, she texted back, confirming that she’d be attending, and nearly collided with one of her neighbors. ‘Sorry!’ she called out, as he jumped aside.

  Maybe it was the text – a sign of things turning around. Or maybe it was her own near collision, reminding her of her own heedlessness. But Dulcie was suddenly gripped by doubt.

  Even as she hurried on, all the other possibilities began to race through her thoughts. Was it possible that Alyson had faked her illness? Or, worse, made herself sick? Dulcie mulled over her interaction with the junior’s neighbor as she trotted down the street. The woman had mentioned the boyfriend – but she also seemed to think that Alyson owned the unit. Maybe, her trot slowed to a walk … Maybe Alyson didn’t have a boyfriend, Dulcie thought. The neighbor could have been confused or mistaken. Dulcie had taken the neighbor’s word for it because of the presence of the kitten. But Alyson hadn’t specifically said who had given her the kitten. For all Dulcie knew, the little marmalade tabby could have been a gift from Tom. Or from another classmate or—

  No. She stopped short. It didn’t make sense. It was the kind of crazy hypothesis that Rogovoy warned her about. Better to stick with what she knew. For starters, she began to enumerate the facts as she started to walk again, Alyson had been attacked. Rogovoy might not have said as much, but his reaction made it plain. He’d warned Dulcie off because she wasn’t helping. Ergo, it made sense that there was an investigation into whatever had made her sick. Ergo, she was at the center of something. Add in that Rogovoy was clearly keeping tabs on the junior – he knew she was being released – and it all began to add up.

  The only certainty Dulcie had was that Chris had been right. She shouldn’t be up. She felt that before the end of the block, a wave of nausea nearly doubling her over on to the sidewalk. She should be in bed, with her tea and the cat – the real, live cat who now lived with them, despite all Dulcie’s callous ingratitude.

  She certainly shouldn’t be pushing her poor, sick body as she was then, running up toward Massachusetts Avenue. But as she hit the main drag, in time to grab a bus heading in the right direction, another thought hit Dulcie with a certainty that made every other concern fade away. Everything else might be speculation, but Alyson Beaumont was in danger.

  ‘Please, sit down.’ The young woman who approached Dulcie didn’t look like a receptionist. For starters, she was wearing scrubs. But Dulcie had been out of breath by the time she had pushed open the main door to the health services, and so she’d let herself be led to an empty examining room.

  ‘Is this for a new procedure?’ She looked around. ‘For privacy or something?’

  ‘Please, let’s focus on you,’ the woman answered. ‘How may I help you?’

  ‘I’m looking for a patient,’ Dulcie answered. ‘Alyson Beaumont.’

  ‘Oh.’ The woman sat back. ‘You looked so pale … I’m sorry, this is triage. I thought …’ She shrugged.

  ‘Thanks, anyway.’ Dulcie rose, feeling herself wobble as she stood, and turned to the uniformed woman. ‘But maybe you can tell me. If a person has been poisoned, how long before she works it out of her system?’

  The other woman blinked. ‘Ah, do you mean food poisoning?’

  ‘Never mind.’ Dulcie waved her off. It was all too complicated. Besides, she’d spied a familiar shade of rich blonde hair passing through the lobby.

  ‘Please, Miss.’ The nurse, or whatever she was, took Dulcie’s arm. ‘If you think you may have been poisoned, you should let us run some tests. Keep you here for observation.’

  ‘This isn’t about me.’ Dulcie summoned a smile that she hoped would compensate for the cold sweat on her forehead. ‘I’m fine. Really.’

  It was Alyson. Dulcie could see her now, over by the door.

  ‘Alyson,’ she called. And then shut up. Alyson was talking with Tom Walls, and the tall young man appeared to be near tears. Dulcie paused, unsure of whether to interrupt. The two were leaning together, Tom towering dark and gawky, regarding the golden Alyson with that intense look Dulcie had come to know so well. She’d wait, she decided.

  The moment passed, and Alyson turned to go. Tom, it seemed, didn’t want her to.

  ‘But I was trying to help,’ he said. Dulcie could hear his voice straining upward, even as Alyson motioned for him to keep it down.

  ‘Don’t you have a job to get to?’ Her voice was low but clear. Tom nodded. ‘I wouldn’t want to keep you,’ she said, and turned to go.

  But Tom wasn’t done. ‘Alyson, please,’ he called out, even as Alyson pushed open the door. ‘You don’t know!’

  ‘Save it,’ Alyson snapped back, her voice suddenly harsh. ‘For Mina Love!’ And she was gone.

  Dulcie felt her jaw drop. Here she had assumed that Alyson had been victimized. That an obsessed classmate had poisoned her and coolly walked away. For a brief moment, she had thought she understood why. But as she stood there, frozen, she had to consider that she’d had it all wrong. And that somehow, between Alyson and Tom, her cousin Mina was in danger.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  ‘Pick up!’ Dulcie commanded her phone, even as she heard her cousin’s ring. ‘Please, Mina.’

  ‘Hi, you’ve reached Mina Love …’ Dulcie sighed and hung up. There was no way to communicate this all in a thirty-second message. Instead, she tried to text: Mina, she typed, we have to talk. Important. Soon!

  It wasn’t enough, but it was all she dared. Alyson and Tom had stepped out on to the plaza as she fiddled with her phone, and now she followed, hanging back in the shadow of a pillar as she watched the mismatched pair turn once more toward each other. They were too far away, now, for her to hear anything, the warm
er weather having brought a lunchtime crowd out of the surrounding towers.

  ‘Let’s try that new pizza place.’ A couple barged in front of her, their voices raised. By the time they passed, Alyson was gone and Tom was standing alone, his face drawn and distraught.

  The decision had been made for her. Besides, she realized as he started walking, she knew where he was headed. He’d mentioned work. She could find him at the library. Down on Level Two.

  Even with the milling crowd as cover, Dulcie held back. Partly, that was expediency. She had no idea still what to say to the junior. How to ask him about his role in Alyson’s illness – or in her cousin’s troubles. She had promised people she wouldn’t talk to him. Had trusted Trista to find out anything relevant.

  Partly, she realized as a fat figure on a cell phone barreled into her, she wasn’t up to following him. Tom was as tall as Chris, and despite his apparent gracelessness, moved quickly through the crowd. Dulcie had never been more aware of her height – or lack thereof – somewhere below the eye level of the average pedestrian. Add in the fatigue and waves of nausea, and it wasn’t long before she lost sight of his bobbing head.

  Well, she consoled herself, she knew where to find him. What she needed to focus on was what to say. How to get the truth out of him without endangering Mina – or herself. Simply by his refusal to give her cousin an alibi, he had framed Mina, and no matter how she worked the problem over in her mind, Dulcie didn’t see how she could get him to retract his statement.

  There had to be a way. And so, with a deep breath to settle her stomach, Dulcie took off in the direction of the library, searching for his lanky form as the plaza opened up to the sidewalk and the street. Her focus helped, keeping the nausea at bay, but Dulcie was reminded how tightly wound she was when her phone buzzed and she jumped.

  ‘Mina!’ Seeing her cousin’s name pop up flooded her with relief. Still, she covered the receiver, not wanting anyone to overhear. ‘Where are you? Are you OK?’