"You're looking?"
I nodded. "He is, anyway. He's on spring break."
"Well, then." She was satisfied. "When you move in, then we'll have the housewarming." She grinned. "We can't let your Inner Child miss a chance for a party." Ruby started working on her Inner Child last winter, after she and her former boyfriend Andrew Drake broke up. Lately, she's been working on mine. I wondered when she'd start on Amy's.
"Well, at least it'll relieve the space problem," I said practically. "If I'm not living in the back, I can take down the wall and—"
"Is that all you can say?" Ruby was aghast. "Where's the romance in your soul, China? Where's the love}''
"Yeah, well, people can love one another and still make a mess of things, you know. Love isn't the magic wand that transforms all life's problems." The phone rang and I reached for it, but Ruby put her hand on mine.
"China," she said, very seriously, "did anybody ever tell you that you have a big issue around intimacy?"
The rest of Tuesday was ordinary, thank God. Since spring was practically here, sales of herb plants were brisk, along with gardening how-to books. The Library Guild bought over a hundred dollars' worth of materials for a potpourri party, and RuthAnn Lansdown, representing the Pecan Springs Garden Club, stopped in to ask if I would give a talk on edible blossoms at the April meeting. I wrote an ad for my spring herb classes and phoned it in to the Enterprise, reordered books and essential oils, and tried not to think about McQuaid's house hunt. About seven he came over to tell me he hadn't had any luck yet, and stayed for a mushroom omelet and an old Robert Redford movie on television. Because Robert Redford always makes me feel sexy, and because Brian was still in San Antonio with his mother, McQuaid stayed all night.
If the day had been ordinary, the night was extraordinary. "Does it strike you," McQuaid said, retrieving the blanket from the floor, "that sex gets better all the time?"
I yawned. "I guess so," I murmured, half asleep.
"Good." He gave me a friendly pat on the rump. "I'd hate for us to find sex boring on the eve of our moving in together."
He climbed under the blanket, pulled me up against him spoon style, and fell asleep almost immediately. But his remark
had jolted me awake. I lay there for a long time, alternating between wondering what it would be like to sleep with McQuaid every night, worrying what Brian would think of our sleeping together, and wishing that McQuaid's landlord would say it had all been a terrible mistake and that of course they could renew the lease.
Wednesday was like Tuesday, only more so. McQuaid went night-fishing at Canyon Lake with a buddy from the Pecan Springs PD, so I got more sleep. On Thursday morning, I woke up early, did some garden work, and settled down to another day in the shop. McQuaid called just before lunch to tell me he'd turned up a couple of possible houses and to ask whether he could pick me up at seven that evening for a look. I had just put the phone down when Dottie called. Her voice was tense and even grittier than usual.
"I got another letter," she said without preamble. "Can you come?"
"Come where?"
"My office. And while you're here, there are a couple of other things you ought to see."
"I thought this was spring break."
Dottie's laugh was short, abrasive. "The students get the break. I get to grade papers. Noah's Ark, first floor, two doors down from the chairman's office. Come in by the quad entrance—I want you to see what's going on in front of the building."
"What is it?"
"Just come."
"Let me check with Ruby," I said. I wasn't sure what I could do about the letters, but I had to admit to being curious about them, and about whatever was happening on the quad.
I put the phone down and went to the connecting door. Ruby was arranging an artful display of crystal balls. "Can you mind the shop for an hour?" I asked.
"Sure," Ruby said. She turned around, holding a crystal ball. "I've decided to have a family get-together tomorrow night. Can you come?"
I looked at her suspiciously. "Don't tell me. Let me guess. You're bringing Amy out of the closet."
Ruby tossed her head. "Mother will be there, and Shannon, and Ramona was coming down from Dallas for the weekend anyway. My mother, my sister, and my two daughters, ^nt you don't have to come."
I hedged. "I didn't say I didn't want to."
"Good." She rubbed the ball with her sleeve. "You can come early and help with the food. We're going to have a sit-down dinner. That way, we can all get to know one another. Get to know Amy, that is."
"Ruby," I said, "why don't you look in that crystal ball and ask whether this is a good idea? Maybe Amy doesn't want you to know her."
Ruby was indignant. "Of course she does. Why else would she go to all the trouble of finding me?"
"I won't be gone long," I said, and went back to tell Dottie I was on my way.
Central Texas State University started out around the turn of the century as a teachers' college. Its major growth spurt happened when the baby boomers got old enough to pay tuition. Now it's growing again, up from twelve to thirteen thousand students in the last year. The sprawling Spanish-style campus is made up of pink and yellow brick buildings roofed in red tile and located on the north side of Pecan Springs, a dozen blocks from my shop. To get there, you go west on Crockett to the square, hang a right, and go north on Anderson until it dead-ends at a
glass kiosk on a cement island, where a uniformed guard checks to see that your parking sticker is vaHd and you're not wanted for any major crimes, such as faiUng to pay your last sixteen parking tickets. If you are, they hold you for ransom until you fork over what you owe.
I have no sticker, but today it didn t matter. The kiosk was closed in recognition of the fact that all the paying customers had gone to the beach. I breezed through, made my usual right at the top of the hill and then down and across Pecan River, which flows, cool and green and lovely, through the middle of the campus. I found a spot in the almost-empty parking lot behind the pink-brick behavioral sciences building where McQuaid has his office. McQuaid's blue Ford pickup was parked in the lot. I made a mental note to drop in and see him when Dottie and I were finished, and headed for the Noah Science Building, which is located between the Behavioral Sciences Center and the river.
Noah's Ark is the building that's slated to come down so that Castle's Castle can go up. It's one of the original campus buildings, named for Mildred Noah, a popular science teacher of the 1920s. Although the Ark is unquestionably inadequate, a lot of people feel nostalgic about it. Its high-ceilinged, wooden-floored classrooms remind them of a time (long ago and far away, like a fairy tale) when teachers thought it was important to talk to students and students thought teachers had something to say. Others are worried that the sprawling, modernistic complex that's proposed for the site will have a negative effect on the river's fragile ecosystem. Backed into a corner by the preservationists, the environmentalists, and the Humane Society, the CTSU regents had put the Castle on indefinite hold. There was no telling when, or even if, they'd approve the new complex.
Following Dottie's instructions to come in through the quad entrance, I walked around the building. The long, narrow quad was not nearly as deserted as the parking lot. A sizeable crowd
"fS Sudan Wittig Albert
was gathered in front of Noah's Ark under a large banner proclaiming "People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals." Most of the demonstrators carried signs, and several wore animal costumes. I saw an orange Garfield, a couple of gray Snoopys, and one unfortunate white rodent, hung up by the hindquarters in a wooden A-frame. On the frame was a sign that read "Hang Harwick Instead" and another that said "Don't Cast Me in Your Experiment!"
Amy Roth, holding a megaphone and wearing her PETA button, stood on the steps of Noah's Ark. She was not the diffident, hesitating young woman who had come into Ruby's shop on Tuesday morning in search of her mother. She looked sure of herself, authoritative, in command, like an antiwar activist from the
sixties. I realized that she must be the PETA organizer.
I came up the steps. "Hi, Amy," I said.
She handed me a clipboard with a petition on it. At the top of the petition was handwritten, in large red letters, STOP SENSELESS MURDERS! "Your signature on this petition can help us keep Dr. Harwick from killing helpless—" She recognized me and broke off. "Oh, hi," she said, in a smaller voice.
I was relieved when she didn't apologize for thinking I was her mother. I glanced at the demonstrators, who were starting to chant on a cue from a kid wearing a "Save the Whales" T-shirt. "Isn't it kind of a waste to hold a rally during spring break? You don't have an audience."
"Are you kidding?" Amy pointed at a TV cameraman I hadn't seen. "The local ABC affiliate is here to cover the regents' meeting. We figured it'd be the best day to demonstrate, so we got a permit."
I had to grin. "Sounds like you play all the angles."
"Animals can't talk," she said fiercely. "Somebody's got to tell their side of the story. Somebody's got to say that animals aren't simply 'resources' to be used up and disposed of. They're living individuals. They deserve respect."
I looked at the rodent hanging helplessly in the A-frame. "You're protesting Harwick's experiment?"
She nodded shortly. "That, and the science complex." She waved at a "Preserve the Ark and Save Our Animal Friends" sign. "We've joined the conservationists and the Humane Society in their effort to keep the university from tearing down Noah's Ark. Do you know about that?"
"I read about it in the paper."
Amy pinned me with her piercing eyes. "I hope you also read PETA's statement that there's no justification for animal research." Her tone was that of a fundamentalist minister lecturing the congregation on the evils of drink and the devil. "When somebody commits a murder, it's a crime against society. But when animals are tortured and murdered in the name of science, it's business as usual. We can all see how immoral and inhumane Harwick's experiment is. How would he like it if somebody strung/?/>w up?" Her voice, which had become louder and louder, rang with the passionate energy of moral and emotional conviction. There was no doubt about it. Amy was her mother's daughter.
"Hang Harwick instead!" somebody in the crowd shouted. "Stop him from murdering innocent animals!" A chorus of voices took up the refrain: "Hang Harwick instead!" When I turned around, I saw the reason for the commotion. The TV cameraman was kneeling down with his shoulder-held camera, zeroing in on two demonstrators who had just strung up a straw-stuffed effigy of Harwick. Another danced in front of the camera with a "Save Noah's Ark" sign. It was showtime.
A soft, baggy woman with a Cabbage Patch doll face and a straggly brown perm stopped on the stairs beside me. It was Rose Tompkins, a secretary in the biology department. "A shame, that's what it is," she muttered, feet planted apart, hands braced on her heavy hips. "Somebody ought to stop these horrible people. Dr. Harwick's experiment is causing enough trouble—we don't need a demonstration to make it worse."
IVe known Rose since she signed up for my aromatherapy class. More recentl); she had come into the shop to buy a wreath, an expensive one, actually. It was a gift for the Castles' wedding anniversary, she announced, from her and the department's senior secretary, Cynthia Leeds. She said this in a tone that defied any negative judgments I might be inclined to pass on the subject of Dr. Castle's marital saga.
Five or six years ago, before I came to Pecan Springs, Frank Castle went through w hat was popularly supposed to be a midlife crisis. He divorced Margaret, his wife of twenty years, to marry a pretty young graduate student. The event attracted widespread attention in the close-knit CTSU community, especially among the wives, whose curiosity quickly became apprehension. If it could happen to Margaret (who'd had to get a job and move out of the expensive home she and Frank had shared), it could happen to them. The new lywed Castles had not been invited to very many dinner parties that year, and even now the "new" Mrs. Castle wasn't a popular person. University communities have long memories. But through it all. Rose had been her boss's staunch supporter.
Now, she turned to me, her plump hands fisted, her dumpling-cheeked face grim. "I'm going to call campus security. We can't have things like this going on today, with the regents meeting just across the quad. Dr. Castle is there this very minute, discussing the new science complex."
"I don't think it'll do any good to call the cops," I said. "The demonstrators have a permit."
"A permit! For that}'' She pointed at Harwick's effigy swinging from the tree. "It's disgraceful!"
It wouldn't do any good to argue the principle of free speech with Rose, who was obviously incensed by anything that besmirched her boss's reputation or that of the biology department. "I'm here to see Dottie Riddle," I said. "Can you point me to her office?"
"First floor," Rose said. "Two doors down from the drinking fountain."
44 4
Dottie's office faced aw^ay from the quad, but the sounds of the protest were still audible.
"What do you think of what's going on out there?" Dottie asked, stubbing out a cigarette. Her office was small, but the very high ceilings gave it an illusion of spaciousness, and the tall casement window behind her littered desk swung open onto a view of the river.
"I doubt that the demonstrators will be able to convince the regents to cut down on animal research," I said, taking the chair that was obviously meant for students who were there to discuss their performance on the last quiz. "Somehow, I can't see univer-sit' officials turning away grant money."
Dottie's expression grew dark. "That's it exactly, China. Money. The bottom line. In fact, that's why Castle is promoting the new^ complex. Better animal lab facilities will attract more grant dollars." Her tone was acid. "If we're all grubbing for grants, who'll teach the students? Which one of these publish-or-perish yahoos will take a minute from his research to pay attention to a kid who doesn't understand the basics? I'm going to keep hammering away at the principle of this thing, even if Harwick and Castle and the rest get so sick of it they want to shoot me."
I could see w hy Dottie was unpopular among the science faculty. But I understood her passion, just as I understood Amy's. I tended to take their side—at least, as far as I understood the issues. But I wasn't sure the conversation was leading us anywhere. "You mentioned a letter," I prompted.
"Oh, yes." Dottie rummaged for a moment in the litter on her desk—student exams, departmental memos, a hairbrush, hand lotion, copies of the campus newspaper. She found what she was
looking for folded into her grade book. "This is it," she said, thrusting it at me. "Came in campus mail, like the others."
I took the paper gingerly, by the corners. "You've handled it, I suppose.^"
"I had to read it, didn't I?" She passed her hand over her eyes. "Sorry, China. The last couple of days I've felt like a volcano. When I opened the letter, I even blew up at Cynthia." She made a disgusted noise. "Of all people. I should have known better."
"Cynthia Leeds?" The biology department's senior secretary.
"Dr. Castle's henchwoman," Dottie said with emphasis. She made a face. "She's worked for him so long she knows what he wants before he does. She knows her job, but if you ask me, she knows too much. Anyway, she's had it in for me for years, ever since I opposed Castle's nomination for the chairmanship."
McQuaid says that there's a rule of thumb about staff jealousies: the more penny the ante, the higher the intensity of feeling. It was my guess that Cynthia Leeds, like Rose Tompkins, didn't have any real power in the department. What little she had, she used whenever she got the chance. You couldn't really blame her for that. "You told her about the letter?"
"She was standing beside the departmental mailboxes when I opened it. Read it—you'll see why I came unglued."
The letter had only one sentence. "Shut up about the lab and get rid of the cats or you're dead." Short on detail but straight to the point.
I frowned down at the letter. Dottie's voice wasn't the only one rais
ed against the lab. There was a whole crowd of demonstrators on the quad protesting Harwick's experiment and Castle's Castle. "Who else is getting letters like this?" I asked.
"Who else wants to build a cattery on the vacant lot next to Harwick's house?" she asked bitterly.
Her answer begged the question, but I didn't argue. "Do you still have the envelope?"
Wordlessly, Dottie pushed it across the desk. It was a number ten white, plain, hand addressed. I examined it. "Harwick's handwriting?"
"This time he tried to disguise it, but I'm sure it's his." Dottie leaned forward. "Can you get him on this? I mean, the others only threatened to kill my cats. This one threatens to kill me. That's pretty serious, isn't it?"
I looked at her. Something about this situation struck me as peculiar. I liked Dottie, and I sympathized with her. But I was beginning to wonder if I was being used. Had Harwick really sent this letter?
"I'm not the one to 'get him,' Dottie." I used her words with emphasis. "The police will have to see this letter, and the others. Do you have them?"
Dottie dropped her eyes. "Yes," she muttered. She yanked the desk drawer open and fished around in it. She pulled out two envelopes and tossed them on the desk. "This is the lot. Take the damn things. I don't want them."
I pulled the letters out of the envelopes and examined them. They looked identical to the one Dottie claimed to have received today. The handwriting on the three envelopes didn't look exactly the same, however. I'm no handwriting expert myself, but I've examined and cross-examined my share, and I know something of the art. It was my guess that whoever addressed the first two envelopes had not addressed the third. I remembered telling Dottie that it would be easier to prosecute Harwick if he threatened her.
I put the letters back in the envelopes. "Since these came in campus mail," I said, "you should notify campus security. Because of the death threat, I'm sure they'll bring in the Pecan Springs police. They'll need these for evidence." I hoped she was smart enough not to make an accusation the evidence would not support. She could get into almost as much trouble forging death threats as she could slinging hammers.
Hangman's root : a China Bayles mystery Page 5
