True Grey

by Clea Simon

  ‘Sorry, Dulce, you probably did. It’s just that . . .’ He waved his hands, and Dulcie sank back in her chair again.

  ‘You see? You’re a fellow grad student, and it bores you. So why should I believe that my work is threatening anybody? Why should I believe that I’m in any danger? I mean, unless he means academically because he – Rafe Hutchins – is looking to beat me to the discovery.’

  ‘But if you think he’d do that, then you must think . . . No.’ Lloyd looked up at her, mouth agape. ‘You think he killed Melinda. You think he killed her for her research.’

  Dulcie shrugged. There wasn’t a kinder way to put it.

  ‘You’ve got it wrong. You’ve got him wrong.’ Lloyd was getting worked up. ‘I know him. Hell, Dulcie, I know what he’s interested in. Early-eighteenth-century prose – not fiction, prose. Political tracts and the like.’

  ‘She wrote those, too.’ He had to see the connection. ‘And why else would he have sent Darlene down to Level C? He was following up on Melinda’s thesis.’

  ‘Well, of course he was – he wanted to see what she had written.’

  ‘So he could finish her work. So he could claim it as his own.’

  Lloyd sighed and closed his eyes. ‘Rafe doesn’t have her dissertation. He never read it. He said he never saw it, and I believe him. Yes, he’s been following up on her work, but only to find out why it was stolen. Why she was killed. Because, Dulcie? He’s heard that there was something explosive in that thesis. And he wanted me to warn you, because if you’re on the trail of the same missing manuscript, then you’re in danger, too.’

  THIRTY-THREE

  Getting the rest of it was like pulling teeth. At first, Lloyd would only say he’d been sworn to secrecy. Then he admitted that Rafe had given his word, too. But Rafe, said Lloyd, wasn’t happy hiding what he’d heard – and Lloyd wasn’t either.

  ‘It’s his girlfriend, Darlene.’ Lloyd had finally said. ‘She’s doing some special project for the dean. Something with computer security on the university interface, or, well, Rafe was vague about that.’

  Dulcie nodded. She was vague on most of the stuff Chris did, too. But this sounded a bit more urgent.

  ‘Anyway,’ Lloyd was still talking. ‘He seemed really uncomfortable with what she was doing, so I pressed him on it. Finally, he told me: Darlene read something. An email. He said she would never have intentionally read any email the dean had written, but this was in his out box. She meant to send it along, you know, figuring that it had just gotten tied up somehow. But in the moment before it got sent, she saw who it was addressed to – and what it said. Dulcie, it said, “This is too dangerous. Dearest please reconsider. There’s too much risk for you and don’t forget this Dulcinea Schwartz.”’

  ‘Dearest? He called her “dearest”?’ For some reason, that was the detail that stuck with Dulcie. ‘So the dean really was involved with Melinda.’

  ‘The dean said “dangerous”, too, Dulcie.’ Lloyd was leaning in, intent. ‘Don’t you think we should focus on that?’

  Dulcie shook her head. ‘I’m not the one he was warning, not really. It’s not even clear if his warning pertains to me, or he is referring back to something else he’d said about me.’ She didn’t like that idea. ‘And, well, don’t you think the key might be in their relationship?’ She grimaced. ‘Their romance?’

  Lloyd opened his mouth, about to protest. Then, clearly, the idea caught him. ‘It does make sense,’ he said. ‘I mean, he was giving her the run of the place. Treating her like a queen. And, well, she always was a heartbreaker.’

  ‘Isn’t he a little old for her?’ Dulcie fought down a slight queasiness at the idea. ‘I mean, I’d heard about his reputation. But, well, wasn’t that years ago, like, at some other college or something?’

  Lloyd only shook his head. ‘I thought this kind of thing happens in your books all the time, Dulcie. You know, the lecherous old lord and the innocent young noblewoman.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Somehow, Dulcie couldn’t bring herself to see Melinda as innocent, but Lloyd had a point. ‘Actually, they’re usually even more twisted than that. Like, the guy is a monk and supposed to be celibate, or it’s really incest.’

  ‘OK, enough.’ Lloyd held up a hand. ‘I get the idea. But, well, now we understand why he was so broken up. I mean, beyond the obvious.’

  ‘I guess.’ Despite the evidence, Dulcie couldn’t see it. ‘But doesn’t it also make him a suspect? I mean, a dean fooling around with a student. He could have gotten into big trouble.’

  Lloyd considered this for a moment before dismissing it. ‘She wasn’t a student here. She was a visiting scholar; that’s different. I mean, could he have gotten in trouble for pulling a few strings? Maybe, but I bet not. From what Rafe says, he cares too much about his position to risk it for a fling.’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t a fling?’ She didn’t have to believe it to follow up with the hypothetical.

  ‘No, not Haitner,’ said Lloyd. ‘I remember when he came here, the Gazette ran his bio. He’s never been married, no kids. Nothing. Says things like his legacy will be the work he does here. You know the type.’

  ‘Midlife crisis. Gorgeous young girl . . .’ Dulcie was warming to the idea. A little too much, perhaps, because Lloyd gave her a look.

  ‘You really want this to be something, don’t you?’ He paused a beat. ‘I’m not saying you’re not on the right track, but shouldn’t we be talking about the other bit of news? Dulcie, your name was in that note. Linked with hers. The dean thought you both – or, OK, at least Melinda – might be in danger. Now she’s dead. Rafe thinks it was a warning about both of you, though. That’s why he’s has been trying to figure out what was going on.’

  ‘So he says.’ Dulcie wasn’t ready to accept that. ‘I mean, why doesn’t he just ask about the email? Darlene made an honest mistake, he could ask the dean. Or she could.’

  ‘Would you?’ Dulcie paused at that. ‘You don’t trust him,’ Lloyd continued. ‘I see that, and, really, considering everything that’s been going on, I don’t blame you. But I’ve known him for years. He’s a stand-up guy.’

  This was supposed to reassure Dulcie. She knew that, and she knew Lloyd meant well. But as she looked at his earnest, pale face, she found that she had become convinced of only one thing: Lloyd trusted Rafe, and she didn’t. And that meant she could no longer trust Lloyd. Her small support group was shrinking even further.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  ‘Hi, sweetie. Are you up yet?’ Dulcie had hoped Chris would answer the phone. Even if he were still annoyed at her, it would be better to talk to him than to this machine. ‘It’s noon, and I was hoping we could talk.’ She bit her lip. She didn’t want to sound needy, even if she was. ‘I’m sorry I got so wound up this morning, Chris.’ This wasn’t getting any better. ‘Call me?’

  Dulcie had left the office a few minutes before. After Lloyd had dropped his bombshell, they’d both fallen silent, and she had tried to work. The first student three-pagers had been completed the week before. If she was going to keep teaching it only made sense to try to keep up with them, but it was hopeless. First she couldn’t find her favorite red pen, and then she had wasted ten minutes looking for the form she needed to renew her online grading access for the year. The form had turned up, and Dulcie knew it was only her current state of mind that had her looking for the form in the wrong desk drawer. But then she couldn’t find her address book, and she knew she was licked.

  It wasn’t so much that she couldn’t talk to Lloyd. It was the knowledge that she did not dare confide in him that hung over her, weighing down on every simple exclamation that she’d made – whether about that pen, the errant book, or her students’ blatant disregard for dangling modifiers. Everything seemed to suddenly have import, and nothing felt casual or easy. It was, she decided, the better part of valor to flee before she ended up picking a fight with her office mate, as well as her boyfriend. It was also, she realized as she surfaced into the sunny day, time fo
r lunch.

  Hoping she could make peace as well as lunch plans, she’d called Chris. He might, she realized with a sinking heart, still be asleep. He might also be out already, leading a group of clueless undergrads through the logic of applied math. The semester was still too new for her to have his schedule by heart. Of course, she indulged in a dash of self-pity, he could be ignoring her.

  ‘Dulcie . . .’ She felt as much as heard the warning voice, a little tickle like the brush of whiskers behind her left ear.

  ‘You’re right, Mr Grey. I’m being overdramatic.’ She fought the urge to reach up to pet him. He wasn’t really on her shoulder, she knew. He hadn’t been there for real in over a year now.

  ‘Now, now.’ The tone of reprimand had softened, and Dulcie found herself swallowing back tears at the unexpected comfort of his voice. ‘You’ve been in dark places before, Dulcie.’ The voice was soft and low, the rumble of a purr underlying its gentle words.

  ‘It’s just that I feel so alone, Mr Grey.’ She walked over to a tree, the better to hide the fact that she was talking to a creature who was not in any physical sense actually there. ‘I mean, it was bad enough finding . . . finding Melinda. And then being put on “disco pro”. But the loneliness is the last straw. First I fight with Chris, and now I don’t know if I can trust Lloyd . . .’

  ‘And?’ She paused. He was right: there was something else bothering her, too.

  ‘My author.’ That was it. It was a relief finally to locate the heart of what was niggling at her. ‘I don’t know what happened, between that fragment and my dream. I’m afraid she wasn’t . . .’ Dulcie paused, unsure how to proceed. ‘That she wasn’t the woman I thought she was.’

  ‘She must have been tired too,’ said the voice. ‘She faced hardship to come here, to accomplish what she did . . .’

  ‘You’re right.’ Dulcie found this encouraging. ‘I guess I feel a kinship with her. Is that silly?’

  ‘Not at all, Dulcie. But remember . . .’ His voice was fading now, the words barely discernible above the purr. ‘There are others close to you as well. Kinship goes deep, but it may demand from us that which we would not choose to give . . .’

  He was gone, but Dulcie felt relieved. It was true, she had people who cared for her, even if they didn’t always act as she would prefer. Like Lloyd and his faith in Rafe. Or Lucy, for that matter. As she started walking across the Yard, Dulcie realized that she probably owed her mother a call.

  ‘Lucy? It’s me.’ By the time Dulcie reached her mother, she was on the other side of the Square. She’d been heading to Lala’s through force of habit, but stopped herself once her mother picked up. ‘Ladybug Sweetwater said you were busy when she picked up the phone, but I was thinking we hadn’t spoken in a while.’

  ‘Nonsense, Dulcinea. We’ve been in constant touch.’ Dulcie looked down at the phone in her hand, a little worried.

  ‘Mom?’ She swallowed. ‘We haven’t spoken since last week.’

  ‘In the corporeal world, Dulcie. On the physical plane.’ Dulcie calmed down. Her mother wasn’t losing her mind any more than she already had. ‘But this is a very sensitive time right now.’

  ‘It is?’ Dulcie wracked her brain, trying to remember what phase the moon was in. ‘The equinox?’

  ‘Exactly! The nights are growing longer, Dulcie. Which means this is the season for those who share bloodlines to reach out to each other.’

  Dulcie nodded, then realized her mother couldn’t see her. ‘Did you hear from Dad?’

  A snort of laughter answered her question. ‘I’m talking about the matrilineal line, Dulcie. Don’t tell me you haven’t been feeling it, too.’ Before Dulcie could formulate a proper response, her mother continued. ‘Though maybe the touch has truly passed you by. I’ve always worried, ever since your hair started to fade. It was red when you were a baby, you know.’

  ‘I’m not psychic, Lucy.’ Maybe it was her mother’s dismissive tone, but Dulcie decided to correct her. ‘But I do have dreams – and I do feel connections to the past. Only they’re to the literary past. To the author I’m studying. I dream about her.’

  ‘A writer.’ Dulcie could hear the disappointment in her mother’s voice. ‘A stranger you only know from books.’ But Lucy Schwartz never stayed down for long. ‘Maybe she’s not a stranger. I assume she was a woman of power. Am I right, Dulcie?’

  ‘In her fashion.’ Dulcie tried not to laugh. ‘But not in the way you mean, Lucy.’

  ‘Well, how can you be sure? If you are having visions, dear, that could mean there’s a deeper connection.’

  ‘It’s possible.’ Dulcie could say that without telling an outright lie. After all, anything was possible. Then she paused. Her mother always talked about the connection between parent and child; now would be the time for her to ask about Dulcie’s life.

  ‘Well, you just keep an open mind, dear.’ It was not to be. ‘Now I’m hip deep in preparations for our next circle. And, yes, I do mean that literally, since we want to hold a water ceremony before it gets too cold.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to question—’

  ‘No, of course not, dear. Everyone knows how gentle you are. Lovely to hear from you! Glad you’re doing so well.’

  As she stood there, holding the silent phone, Dulcie remembered one of her childhood fantasies. In it, she’d been stolen away from the most rational family in the world, and Lucy, for all her good intentions, was no more her mother than Lala was.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Everything looked better on a full stomach, Dulcie told herself. But after talking with Lucy, Dulcie knew she couldn’t bear to run into any of her students, and so instead of Lala’s, she headed toward the Baglery. Besides, she rationalized as she walked away from Harvard Square, she was having a hard day. She deserved an eight-dollar sandwich that would take a while to chew.

  Her mouth, of course, was full when her phone rang, but she reached for it anyway. It wasn’t too late for Chris to join her, especially if he was already in the area. That last bite of bagel almost choked her, however, when she heard Detective Rogovoy’s gruff bark on the other end.

  ‘Ms Schwartz.’ He didn’t wait for her to identify herself, undoubtedly part of his police training. ‘Glad I caught you. Finally.’

  Dulcie swallowed with difficulty, the dry bagel still a lump in her throat. ‘Detective?’ She reached for her diet Coke, as she counted back. Had she ignored one call? Two? ‘I’ve been meaning to get back to you.’ She tried to sound optimistic. ‘Have you, uh, figured everything out?’

  Another bark. This one sounded like a laugh. ‘I wish. No, I’m calling you again because apparently you no longer return calls. And, Ms Schwartz, I’m afraid I’ve got to ask you to come in again. There’s been a new development.’

  Dulcie put the soda can down and ever so briefly considered hanging up. It would be the wrong thing to do. She knew that. She also suspected it would be futile. It was, however, tempting.

  ‘Ms Schwartz?’

  ‘I’m here.’ She couldn’t help the heavy sigh that followed.

  He must have heard it. ‘I am sorry, Ms Schwartz. I really am. I shouldn’t say this, but I do feel like I’ve come to know you and, well, my daughters aren’t that much younger than you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She felt surprisingly comforted by his words and found herself wondering what the bear-like cop would be like as a father. There were so few men at the arts colony that Dulcie hadn’t been ostracized by her lack of a dad, but the idea still tantalized. Maybe, she decided, living with Chris was changing her ideas of family. Or maybe it was Mr Grey.

  A loud clearing of the throat brought her back to the moment. ‘So, Ms Schwartz, when may we expect the pleasure of your company?’

  ‘May I finish my lunch first?’ The idea didn’t seem that scary any more. ‘My office hours start at two, but surely we’ll be through by then.’ The quiet on the other end brought some of her nerves back. ‘Won’t we?’

  ‘The sooner you get here, t
he sooner we’ll be able to figure that out.’ The detective was back in police mode.

  ‘Figure what out?’ Her mouth had gone dry again.

  Now it was her turn to hear a bellows-like sigh come over the phone line. ‘We’ve been looking through the deceased’s rooms, the ones she’d just moved into before the – ah – incident. And we found something that has been admitted into evidence.’

  Dulcie waited. She had only been in the library, the outer room of the suite. There was no way this could be connected to her. ‘Something,’ she paused, fishing for the right phrase, ‘that I might be able to help you with?’

  ‘You could say that, Ms Schwartz. At the very least, we need to go over your statement again. Basically, we’d like to know if you can think of any reason why we should have found, under her desk, a leather bound address book that seems to belong to you.’

  THIRTY-SIX

  ‘Excuse me?’ Dulcie was dimly aware of the voice on the other end of the phone, as Rogovoy went back over what he’d said. What she heard, however, were her own racing thoughts.

  It was a set-up. It had to be. Dulcie knew there was no way she had brought her address book into Melinda’s suite. In fact, the last time she had seen it was . . . She stopped herself. It had been in her desk. Only, when she had looked for it in the top right drawer, it had been missing.

  Someone had taken it, she realized with a gasp. Someone had taken her address book, and at the same time planted the page of Melinda’s manuscript. She was sure of it. She remembered going through her drawers, thinking everything was just a bit out of place. No, neatness was not her strong suit. Still, she hadn’t put the grading form in the left-hand drawer. She never put the grading form in the left-hand drawer. It always went in the right, where she could pull it out when she needed to look up the procedure for filing the grades – and then she shoved it back. Only it hadn’t been there. It had moved. And the manuscript page had been shoved down into her pad. And, clearly, her address book lifted.