Murder Misread

by P. M. Carlson

  “It’s leading up to the fact that you told Anne you’d been at a meeting. But you told Hines you had lunch alone.”

  “I was alone. Quiet spot in the grove.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Anne strode to the end of the porch and hurled the cigarette past Cindy onto the gravel. “We’ll never get anywhere if we don’t level with each other! Nobody’s asking you to tell Hines, Cindy. But tell Maggie so we can get past this and think about Tal!”

  “Anne, I’m sorry. But—”

  Anne turned on her. “Cindy, I need to know who killed Tal. That’s top priority right now. So let’s quit this game and move on.” She looked back at Maggie. “Cindy was at a meeting. Gamblers Anonymous.”

  “Damn you!” Cindy stared at her pink sneakers.

  “Gamblers Anonymous.” Maggie looked at Cindy thoughtfully. “I see. You can’t tell Hines who else was there.”

  “That’s it.” Cindy tossed back her curls and looked defiantly from Anne to Maggie. “You tell Hines I was at the GA meeting and he’ll come hassling me for names. I can’t do that to them.”

  “And Charlie knows you’re in GA, and that’s why he won’t talk,” said Maggie. “The gallant type.” She took a deep breath and glanced at Anne. “How did you know about Cindy?”

  “Tal,” said Anne. She moved around the swing and sat on it, half twisted to face them. “A little while after he became chairman he found out. Tried to help.”

  Maggie looked at Cindy. “Did he help?” Her earlier hostility was gone.

  “He helped a lot,” Cindy said. “I was just then figuring out that I wasn’t getting anywhere except deeper in debt. You know, it’s so funny, you can go for years thinking all you need is one more win, and you hardly notice all you’re losing while you wait for it. Losing just makes you more sure your luck will turn. But I was finally noticing that the family was getting hurt while I waited for lightning to strike. Tal steered me to GA. Best present anyone ever gave me.”

  Maggie gazed out at the lake. “So Tal knew for years.”

  “Yes. Even helped me work out a plan to pay my debts. I’ll be even in a couple more years. Maybe get a new car then.” She stretched an arm back and fluttered her fingers at the Toyota.

  “Who knows about this besides Anne and Charlie?” asked Maggie.

  “Nobody, now.”

  “Your family?”

  “No. They just think the university doesn’t pay very well. Well, God knows that’s true too.”

  “Does Bernie Reinalter know?”

  “God, no!” Cindy’s turquoise lids squeezed closed in apprehension. “Mr. Model Manager finds out and my job’s on the line.”

  “Why? You’ve got the gambling under control now, right?” Maggie said. “You’re almost out of debt. Wouldn’t he be more understanding?”

  “You don’t know Bernie.”

  “True. I don’t.” Maggie hesitated, then glanced at Anne. “Well, Anne’s right. I can’t see any point in broadcasting this. But I would like to know if you’ve had any thoughts about other people in the department.”

  “Given up on your Cindy-the-blackmailer theory?” Cindy asked.

  Maggie spread her hands innocently. “Hey, look, if you tell us, then we’ll know it’s not worth money to you.”

  “God, you academics are so logical.” Cindy adjusted her pink headband with both manicured hands. “Okay, what are your questions?”

  “Do you know anything about Nora Peterson’s brother?”

  “Brother? Nothing. Unless—” Cindy frowned.

  “Want to sit on the swing so Anne doesn’t have to twist around?”

  “Sure.” Cindy joined Anne on the swing. Maggie perched on the porch rail a few feet in front of them, her long legs in the faded jeans stretched out before her. The crinkly navy blue shirt stirred in the occasional breeze. It reminded Anne of a dark bird ruffling its wings. Maggie said, “So you know something about Nora’s brother?”

  Cindy leaned back in the swing, pink sneakers pushing off gently to match Anne’s rhythm. “Funny. When you mentioned a brother I remembered a phone call last year, not long after that student made a scene in her office. I picked up the phone and it turned out the button for her extension was pushed in.”

  “That must happen from time to time,” said Maggie, bland-faced.

  “Not as often as it would if you had my job,” Cindy shot back.

  Maggie grinned. “Yeah, you’ve got me spotted. I’m the epitome of snoopiness. So tell us about this call.”

  “She was talking to someone she called Dick. Said she’d arranged things, he was to get over to Campus Security in the administration building at two-thirty. He grumbled when she said he’d need a haircut, but she snapped at him, said this was the last time she’d bail him out. The she said, ‘Shhh,’ and I figured it was time to get off the line.”

  “We should have talked to you first,” Maggie said. “Yeah, this Dick she was talking to was her brother, and he’s now a campus cop. Calls himself Pete Dixon.”

  “Dixon.” Cindy leaned forward abruptly, making Anne’s end of the swing wag back and forth. “That’s the guy who came by yesterday, right? He’s her brother? Why is his name different?”

  “There are reasons she wants to keep it quiet. He’s got enemies and wants to stay low-profile for a while.”

  “So he changes his name and comes to the boonies where he has to get haircuts. I see.”

  “Yes. And Nora gets him a job where he’s protected.”

  Anne frowned. Something didn’t fit here. “One thing I don’t understand. How could Nora bail him out with a job in Campus Security? Completely separate operation. How could she know Walensky would hire him?”

  Cindy peered across at her from under those sooty lashes. “Oh, Walensky’s willing to do favors,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I don’t know if this is a regular thing. But a guy I know—all right, he’s in GA. Walensky caught him borrowing from one of the fraternities, their petty cash box. Walensky smiled, told the guy he didn’t want to ruin his life, maybe they could make arrangements.”

  “Blackmail?” Anne asked, shocked. “You mean he had to pay off Walensky?”

  “He said it was a reasonable amount, one-time. And now he knows a cop is watching.”

  Maggie said, “Sort of an informal fine-plus-probation.”

  Cindy nodded. “Yeah, look on the bright side. Keeps everyone’s record clear. Also helps Walensky’s pocket, and his information network.”

  “Nora would probably have to pay more than a little for this kind of favor. And Dixon himself—” Maggie stood up, began pacing again in long circles like a hawk’s. “Anne, did Tal say anything recently about Nora? Or Walensky?”

  “Let me think.” Anne leaned back in the swing, closed her eyes. There had been something… what? At breakfast Tuesday. A few days ago, an eternity ago. “He didn’t say anything specific,” she said. “Just that he hardly knew the department anymore. All these projects that Bernie and Nora had, it wasn’t like the old days. That was the gist.”

  “He mentioned Bernie and Nora?”

  “That’s all I remember now.”

  “Nothing about Walensky?”

  “Not then. But he was always complaining about Walensky, ever since he botched the investigation of that little boy who was hit by the car. The Hammond kid.”

  “Well—God, this raises some lousy possibilities. Do you suppose Walensky recognized the driver, and slowed the investigation on purpose? If Walensky—” Maggie swung to a halt in front of them, gazing out at the lake, her brow furrowed. “Anne, did Tal ever mention Dixon? Or Nora’s brother?”

  “No. Just the scene in the office.” Anne pulled a Gauloise from the pack and held it a moment, rolling it in her fingers, frowning at its neat gray lettering. “Do you suppose Tal found out who Dixon was? He saw him last year. Maybe he recognized him. Maybe he started asking questions.”

  “He didn’t ask me,” said
Cindy.

  “Would he ask you?” Maggie’s gaze shifted from the lake to Cindy.

  “He might. He often did, questions about the department. You two aren’t the only ones who think I know a lot.” She shook her curly mane. “God, I wish I did know as much as you guys think!”

  “So do I.” Maggie started pacing again, hands thrust deep into her jeans pockets, shoulders hunched. “Hines ought to know all this. Cindy, do you think Tal would try blackmail?”

  Anne snapped upright, making the swing lurch, shouting even before she was conscious of her rage. “What kind of idiot question is that?”

  “Anne, I’m sorry.” Maggie paused again, her compassionate eyes bluer than the sky.

  Anne didn’t want compassion. “It’s a stupid question!”

  “It’s one Hines will ask.”

  “Doesn’t mean we’ve got to! Waste of time.” Anne was still holding the cigarette, had mashed it in her anger. She rolled it smooth in her fingers and lit it. Her hands were shaking. “Maggie, the whole point of asking around ourselves is to save time. Avoid blind alleys. You push this direction and it’s over.”

  “Anyhow,” Cindy said, “I know Tal is no blackmailer. Think what he could have done to me!”

  “Right!” barked Anne.

  Maggie’s hands flew to shoulder level, palms out in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. I quit, I quit! Cindy, what can you tell us about Bart Bickford?”

  “Big Bart? He wants to get a grant for a new creativity study.”

  Anne’s heart was still pounding. She watched the smoke twisting up from the end of the Gauloise. Calm down, she told herself. Questions have to be asked. Listen to the answers.

  “Everybody wants to get a grant,” Maggie observed. “Is Bart close to getting one?”

  “Yes, I’d think so. Tal thought so. Bart got money for the pilot last year, and he says it’s working out. So, if nothing goes wrong—well, you can ask him for details.”

  “I will,” said Maggie. She gazed out at the lake again and added, “Why was he in that St. Louis hospital so long?”

  Cindy gave her a long, cold look. “You’ve been in my files. I thought so.”

  Maggie shrugged.

  Cindy said, “He was being treated for depression. Suicide attempts, the whole bit.”

  “I see.” Maggie swung over to the railing to perch again. “I suppose it’s a problem to have that on your record if you’re working with kids.”

  “I don’t know if it’s a problem or not. But I know Bart is scared stiff that someone will find out. The vita he uses only goes back to the year after he got out.”

  “Well, it’s definitely a problem then. If he worries, it’s a problem.”

  “Tal knew,” said Cindy. “He deleted that information from the file when he saw how edgy Bart was. Decided to leave the note on hospitalization, but take out the reason he was there.”

  Maggie glanced at Anne. Anne blew smoke from her nostrils and glared back at her. Maggie shrugged and turned back to Cindy. “Okay. Now, what about Charlie?”

  “Charlie doesn’t have anything to do with it. You say so yourself.”

  “But this feud you have with him,” Maggie pursued.

  Cindy jumped up from the swing and strode to the front door. “Just forget it. It’s over. Charlie isn’t involved, you can prove that yourself.”

  “Could he have a partner?”

  Cindy shook her curls. “A loner like Charlie?”

  Maggie marched across the porch to stand nose to nose with Cindy. “Cindy, there’s more, isn’t there? Charlie is keeping quiet about you. Why? You’re refusing to talk about him. Why?”

  “So we’re both playing fair,” Cindy retorted. “It’s over. Forget it.”

  “What’s over?” demanded Anne. “Why won’t you help us? Did you have an affair with Charlie? Is that why Lorraine left?”

  “God, no!” said Cindy. Her surprise looked real.

  “Well, what the hell do you want us to think?”

  Cindy tossed her head. “Doesn’t make any difference what I want, does it? We’re all going to sit around thinking bad things about each other until this is cleared up.”

  Anne leaned forward in the swing and jabbed a finger at Cindy. “So help us clear it up!”

  Cindy looked at her and shrugged helplessly.

  Maggie was still studying Cindy with narrowed eyes. She said suddenly, “You stole money from the department, didn’t you?”

  Anne exclaimed, “No! She wouldn’t!” But in the same instant she saw terror flash through Cindy like a current, and she knew Maggie was right. She stood up and stepped closer to them. “What do you mean, Maggie?”

  “She embezzled it,” said Maggie.

  “You’re crazy,” said Cindy bravely.

  “But…” Anne began, then the pieces slipped into place. Tal’s worry about Cindy’s gambling, the effect on her family, he’d said. His zeal to get her into GA. His worries about the department finances when he first became chairman. Anne said, “Tal saved your job, didn’t he? These debts you’re paying off—they’re to the department?”

  “Oh, God.” Cindy pushed past Anne and went to stand at the end of the porch again, looking out at the lake. Anne followed and leaned against the corner post of the porch.

  “Is it the department you owe?” Anne said insistently.

  “Not exactly.” Cindy’s glance was almost amused. “First I owed Tal.”

  “Tal?”

  “And you, I suppose. He never told you? See, he paid back the department money himself, got the books straight. Then he had me pay him in installments. As soon as my credit rating was back in shape I got a bank loan and paid him off. I don’t owe you anything anymore. Nor the department. Just the damn bank.”

  “Merde.” Anne stared out at the blue of the lake.

  “You didn’t know, Anne?” asked Maggie.

  Anne shook her head slowly. “Not this part. How much did he—”

  “Sixteen thousand four hundred and seventy,” said Cindy.

  “Merde,” said Anne again. Nine years ago, that had been. He’d probably lifted it from his travel fund. She remembered now, for two years she’d done the trip to Europe alone. He’d said he was too busy now that he was chairman. He’d said he would babysit Paul and Rocky while she went. Damn Tal, she wouldn’t have screamed at him if he’d told her. Would she? Oh, hell, she probably would have.

  “I told him he was a bigger gambler than I was,” said Cindy.

  “Yeah. Yeah, he was.” Anne looked down at her Gauloise. A long tongue of ash protruded from the white stub.

  “Why?” asked Maggie, her voice chilly as a north wind. “Why didn’t he fire you, Cindy?”

  Anne hurled the spent cigarette on the gravel. “Because he’s a damn idiot romantic! The grand folly, the grand gesture. Quelle sottise! Mais quel geste! ”

  “No, seriously.” Maggie was still staring at Cindy.

  “You think that’s not a serious answer?” Cindy’s mouth twitched. Her secret out, she seemed more relaxed. “Are you thinking up scandalous explanations, like Anne? You think I turned on my bimbo charms and seduced Tal out of his sixteen thou?”

  “Sounds more realistic than Anne’s version.”

  “Well, it’s not,” Cindy said. She looked from Maggie to Anne, rubbed her palms on her jeans, and said, “Look, promise not to say anything about all this to the people inside and you can come in for a cup of coffee.”

  Maggie said, “Shouldn’t we finish talking out here? Because—”

  “Shut up,” snapped Anne. This half of the truth she knew. “We’re going in.”

  Maggie glanced at her, eyebrows lifting. “Yessum,” she said.

  Anne followed Cindy and Maggie through a neat living room with a flowered sofa to the big sunny kitchen-family room that ran across the back of the house. Three children were flopped on the gold carpet before a television cartoon program. “Mark?” said Cindy. “Want you to meet someone from the department. Maggie
Ryan.”

  The children sat up and looked around. A man with reddish-brown hair turned his wheelchair to face them. He smiled warmly with the unscarred half of his face. “Hi,” he said, sticking out his hand.

  “Hello.” Maggie stepped forward without hesitation and took his hand. “Glad to meet you, Mark.”

  “Anne!” He’d spotted her behind Maggie. “God, that’s rough, about Tal.”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Mark.” She took his hand next. His blue eyes were sad and steady. Behind him the gaudy cartoon sputtered and danced. “Nothing to do about it, except find out who did it.”

  “Yeah.” He squeezed her hand. “And go on. That takes some doing too, going on.”

  “One thing at a time,” she said. Her eyes stung. Still holding Mark’s hand, she looked defiantly at Maggie.

  Maggie was standing very still, checking over the room with a swift glance: the cheerful curtains, the worn chairs, the geraniums in the window, the girl who had moved to her father and was hanging on his shoulder, the framed velvet square thick with decorations, including a Distinguished Flying Cross and two Purple Hearts. She met Anne’s gaze and gave a tiny nod.

  “Cream and sugar?” asked Cindy brightly from the kitchen end of the room.

  They had their coffee. Maggie didn’t question Tal’s motives again.

  16

  The smell of sweat, buttered popcorn, minty chewing gum. A flickering, tiny figure, graceful in white, pleading, “You’re my only hope.” Charlie sat very still in the last row, half in a trance. The film was splendid: action-filled, visual, imaginative. And beside him Deanna’s warm presence filled him with excitement and well-being.

  But his trance kept dissolving as uglier thoughts intruded. Tal’s murder. Hines’s interrogation. And that copy of Screw, sent to him as though someone thought he’d know about the ad. Walensky had questioned him closely on that point when he came to pick it up, but Charlie had finally convinced him that, since he’d had nothing to do with the ad, the sender must have been guessing. “Maybe everyone in Laconia who works with children got a copy,” Charlie suggested. “Maybe someone just wants it investigated.”

  “Well, they got their wish,” Walensky said. His Burt Reynolds face looked old, crumbly. “We’ll put a watch on the post office box, see what turns up. Of course this kind of investigation is tough. Like drugs. The perpetrator gets a whiff that there’s official interest and all the evidence goes down the toilet before we arrive. You understand? I’m telling you not to talk about this to anyone.”