Passport to Murder

by Mary Angela

  “It must be a hell of a tidbit,” Lenny said behind me.

  Satisfied that we would not be overheard, I turned to face him. “It’s about Molly and Nick. I think I know who murdered them.”

  “Miss Scarlet in the library with a,” he took out one of the dusty tomes, “a hefty book?”

  “I’m serious, Lenny.”

  He put back the anthology. “Sorry. I’m listening.”

  I proceeded to tell him my theory and my plan for outing the murderer. As I relayed the details, my voice grew more animated. Saying it out loud, I thought it made perfect sense. I was waiting for Lenny to agree when he asked if I could prove it.

  “Well, not court-of-law prove it, but I would say the evidence is pretty convincing. Wouldn’t you? Besides, Beamer will be there. He will have confirmation.”

  “I would agree,” he said, “but then again, I’m not exactly an unbiased observer.” He relaxed against the bookshelf. “In fact, you had me when your lips started to do that thing they do when you’re excited.”

  My hand moved to my mouth. “Are they doing something?” Claudia Swift had once said something about my lips twitching when I was excited.

  “It’s not unbecoming, Prather. In fact—how would one of your romance novels put it?—it’s rather… fetching.”

  My heart was beating fast, and I didn’t know anymore if it was the murders or Lenny that had my pulse racing. As he took a step closer, I knew it was Lenny.

  His lips barely grazed my own, and I can’t remember if I even closed my eyes. I only remember the moment being electric and unlike anything I had ever experienced. When he stepped back, I wondered if I had imagined it. But the tingle on my lips told me it was real.

  “I guess I couldn’t wait until after,” he said.

  “That’s so like you.”

  We lingered a moment longer, paralyzed by our newfound feelings. Then I nodded in the direction of the presentations. “I’d better get back.”

  We returned to the program area, where an audience was now seated in five perfect rows, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Lenny. Even as the first student started to present her essay, my mind drifted back to that moment. It was hardly anything, a brief passing of the lips, and yet it meant a great deal. It meant something was happening between us, something I couldn’t define and didn’t want to. It felt so right, so natural, as if everything before had been leading up to that moment. As I pondered the kiss itself, that fleeting interlude, a thought occurred to me, a radical thought that had nothing to do with Lenny and me. I sat up straighter in the chair, and my student at the podium turned at the noise.

  I smiled. I knew exactly how Molly had come into contact with the mysterious peanut, and I was going to prove it.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  After the presentations, I was detained by questions from the audience and students, and by the time I finished, the area was clear. Lenny had gone ahead to secure a spot at the reception, and while I knew my seat was saved because I was presenting an award, I rushed through the Tech Lab, which linked the library to the Student Center. I hoped to have a chance to talk to Officer Beamer, but the man was nowhere in sight as I hustled in the direction of the banquet halls. The dividers had been taken down to reveal one large room and in it at least a hundred people. Still, I couldn’t find Beamer in the sea of faces. The professors presenting awards to students sat at a skirted table near the microphone. I noticed Bennett Jaspers at the table and was puzzled to see him seated next to Dr. Judith Spade and Arnold Frasier. Then I remembered: he was giving one of Molly’s students an award in Molly’s place. I thought it a little strange that someone else from the History Department couldn’t bestow the award, but maybe Bennett had asked to do it in order to honor Molly. There was one empty seat, mine, and I moved toward it quickly. It was the farthest away from the podium, so I assumed I would be presenting last. I was giving an award to a student from Advanced Composition who had demonstrated extraordinary commitment to research in a mere 200-level course.

  As I took my seat, I gazed out at the crowd and recognized several students from classes and from the trip to Paris. Amanda and Kat, Olivia and Meg, Aaron and Jace—all the old ghosts from the failed excursion were assembled here. Lenny sat next to André and Giles and a few other English professors, including Thomas Cook, his wife Lydia, and Jane Lemort.

  I refocused on the crowd. Still no Officer Beamer. I was confident that he would attend, though; he wasn’t a man to go back on his word. Judith Spade stepped up to the microphone and tapped on it, signaling the ceremony was about to begin, and I turned my attention to her. I admired Judith’s easy, direct way. She didn’t have to assert her authority; it was just there. She explained that she herself had read each of the conference proposals and the papers receiving awards. And while all the students who submitted work to Student Fest deserved praise for going beyond the classroom to exchange ideas with the larger academic community, the students we were recognizing this afternoon showed extraordinary merit. Then she introduced her own student, none other than Olivia Christenson’s friend, Meg. After reading a snippet from the work, Judith summoned Meg to the podium, and the crowd clapped politely. Judith shook Meg’s hand and posed for a picture for the campus newsletter, Campus Views.

  Arnold Frasier was next to hand out an award, but I didn’t know the student. Arnold waxed poetic for at least ten minutes about a painting that, by the time he finished, I was sure should be displayed in the Louvre. The student accepted the award and took the perfunctory picture.

  Bennett was up next, and I leaned in curiously to hear what he would say.

  “I’m sure most of you are surprised to see me here. My wife, Molly Jaspers, should be standing in the spot where I am now, but as you know, she passed away two weeks ago on a trip she was looking forward to a good deal. She died doing what she loved, and for that, we can be thankful.

  “When the History Department told me one of her favorite students would be receiving an award, I knew she would want me to be here, to tell Amanda Walters how much she had come to mean to her over the last few years.” He nodded in Amanda’s direction; Amanda looked as if she were going to cry. “She wasn’t one of those teachers who think of students as inferior. She considered them equals, and that really pushed students like Amanda to give it their all.” He smiled at Amanda and the audience.

  “I wish I could say something prophetic about Amanda’s work, but we don’t travel in the same worlds, I’m afraid. As a businessman, I can tell you that I know talent when I see it, and I see it in Amanda Walters. She’s an incredibly gifted girl who has a terrific future ahead of her.” The crowd applauded as Amanda, eyes brimming with tears, walked up the stairs to the makeshift stage to receive the award.

  After they returned to their seats, it was my turn, and I reached the microphone in a few steps. As I scanned the crowd one last time, I noticed movement in the doorway. It was Officer Beamer with a white envelope in his hand. He gestured with it and nodded, and I knew my theory had been correct.

  “First of all, I want to thank Bennett Jaspers for that moving speech,” I began. The audience clapped. “Molly would be proud of us… or would she?” The clapping trailed off to one or two claps, and several people in the audience looked at each other. Giles glanced at Lenny for an explanation, but Lenny just stretched out his legs.

  I lowered the microphone to accommodate my height. I really wished I had worn those matching red heels. Besides adding inches, they would have gone perfectly with my crimson shirt. “I raise the question because despite the outward display of grief for our dearly departed colleague, her death was no accident. It was murder, and how could she really be proud of any of us when we’ve allowed an assumption to go unchallenged?”

  The room exploded in murmurs, and Officer Beamer approached the front of the stage and crossed his arms in a formal stance. “Please let the professor continue.” All murmuring ceased with what was clearly a direct order.

  “Thank you
, Officer Beamer,” I said with a nod of my head. “You see, I was with Molly Jaspers on our ill-fated Paris trip, and from the moment the headcount was revealed as thirteen, I worried about bad luck.”

  Judith Spade crossed her arms. Obviously, she was not superstitious.

  “It seemed an unlucky break that Molly would die from anaphylactic shock when everyone on the plane knew she was deathly allergic to peanuts,” I continued, “but it was no unlucky break. It was a carefully crafted murder.”

  I gestured to André Duman. “Suspicion was immediately cast upon my good friend and colleague, Professor Duman, because he had argued with Molly Jaspers minutes before her death. I knew that my friend and your professor couldn’t have killed Molly over a difference of opinion, though.” André nodded, and I continued, “When Nick Dramsdor died suddenly after Molly’s visitation and André was not in attendance, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he hadn’t killed Molly. I was certain that the same person who poisoned Molly Jaspers also killed Nick Dramsdor.”

  Amanda, who was seated in the front row in her straight skirt, let out a small cry. It was an involuntary reaction, one that students of her pedigree didn’t make. I had mixed feelings about continuing, but the truth had to be revealed to everyone in the room. And nothing was valued at the university more than truth. We were individuals who had dedicated our lives to it, revered it, and did our best to instill it in the young minds we taught. Amanda would understand why I had to continue.

  “So, who had the motive and means to kill both of these talented individuals?” I asked. “More people than you think. Eleven, aside from the victims, participated in our trip abroad, and it made sense to start with those individuals. Now, we all know there has been a time or two when you have wanted to murder your professor.” I gestured to the students. This got a few laughs. “But there was only one student who really bore a grudge against Molly Jaspers, and that student is dead. Skylar Erickson committed suicide not long after being told by Professor Jaspers that he was not cut out for the field of history. The fact that his red-haired mother was at the airport and on the plane made me wonder if she didn’t seek revenge on Molly for her cruel words. But it turned out that this red-haired woman was a red herring.” I nodded at Kat, who sat behind Amanda. “For while she was on the plane, her plans to visit her sister in Paris were confirmed by the Minneapolis Police, and she was nowhere to be seen the night of Nick’s death. So I turned to the students who were present, and that included Amanda, Kat, Meg, and Olivia.”

  The girls tensed in their seats. “Olivia, you were the obvious choice because Professor Jaspers gave you a grade that subsequently ended your stay in the sorority on Landon Avenue.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with her death!” Olivia protested. The opposite of Amanda, Olivia was not a student who kept her opinions to herself. “I got a lot of bad grades that semester. I was going through a horrible breakup.”

  Glad she had admitted to her low grade point average herself, which I was not at liberty to expose, I continued, “I didn’t say you killed her; I said you were the obvious choice.

  “That left Amanda and Kat, who were both close to the professors and who had only good things to say about them. Amanda, you alone talked to Nick before his death, and for some time, this was a concern, especially with your revelation about a person in the window whom the police could not identify.” Amanda raised her hand in protest, but I motioned for her to put it back down.

  “And Kat, while you were not as close to these two individuals as Amanda was, you were working on a story that seemed to be writing itself as each event unfolded. We all know creative writers often use real-life incidents to create fiction, but would they jeopardize someone’s safety for the sake of a story?”

  Kat’s eyes widened in anticipation.

  “I didn’t think so. So that left the adults on the trip, the four of us on this stage.” I looked at the three people to my right, and so did everybody else. “Arnold, you were at odds with Molly, and that was immediately apparent on the bus. You were angry that you could no longer count on her support of the arts. Everyone overheard your argument and wondered if your defensiveness might be blamed on resentment. She had even lashed out at you in writing when you made a comment in support of the pipeline. Her opposition to your article was a blow to your authority and perhaps your ego.”

  Arnold smoothed the sides of his head with his hands. “But you said the same person who killed Molly killed Nick, and I was not even at the visitation.” Bennett gave him a stern glance, and Arnold added, “Sorry.”

  I leaned an elbow on the podium. “That’s right. You were not at the visitation, and I was convinced the two deaths were connected, not coincidental. Nick began to act erratically before he even left the funeral parlor, so I knew the poisoning occurred there.”

  At the word poisoning, I turned to Officer Beamer, and he nodded, confirming what we both had guessed.

  “So that leaves the rest of us. Judith, you’re probably the smartest among us,” I said, trying to smooth over what I was about to say with some flattery. “It would have been easy for you to orchestrate these murders, especially with your knowledge of the human body. And you and Molly were vying for the same job.”

  Bennett nodded in agreement.

  Judith was as calm as I’d ever seen her. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying herself. “And what reason did I have for murdering Nick?”

  “Nick was adamant that Molly’s vision be realized, especially her qualifications for tenure requirements. Perhaps this worried you, especially with Bennett Jaspers’ wealth and power behind it. You know how the university thrives on donations and goodwill. It could have been a force to reckon with if Bennett tied the money to modifications you didn’t agree with.”

  “It’s a wonderful story, Emmeline, but it’s simply not true.” She looked out at the crowd, still unperturbed. “I don’t know what else I can say to clear myself.”

  “You don’t have to say anything because I know you didn’t kill Molly, and now I will prove it. There was one thing that bothered me from the beginning, and that was Bennett Jaspers’ declaration that his wife was allergic to peanuts. Mr. Jaspers, you travel… a lot. You travel enough to know the airline that rules the Midwest routes serves peanuts on every flight.”

  He nodded. “Exactly. That’s why I contacted them about the snack selection. They assured me it would be a peanut-free flight.”

  “Yes, you said that, and at first, I believed you. But on the ride home from Minneapolis, André said something that I hadn’t considered: he bought the tickets—all of them. He alone had the reservation number and gave us the tickets at the airport.”

  The gray streak in Bennett’s hair shone like steel as he turned his head toward me. “Oh sure, but I had the date and time. That’s all I needed to contact the airline about my concerns. And I did. Like you said, I fly all the time.”

  “If that were true, why wasn’t the flight peanut-free?” I continued before he could answer, “The airlines are happy to accommodate allergy requests and take them quite seriously. They even have rows of seats that are nut-free zones. So how did Molly come into contact with a peanut? This was what baffled the police in Minneapolis and prevented them from charging anyone, for while they confirmed traces of peanuts in her saliva, they couldn’t confirm that they were in her snack or even near her. Although some of us ordered the peanuts, none of us got close enough to contaminate her—except you, a fact I remembered only an hour ago.” I glanced at Lenny and continued, “You embraced Molly shortly after the flight took off. The kiss was spontaneous, romantic… and lethal. You yourself ate peanuts because you knew the allergen would stay in your saliva. Research suggests that not even brushing your teeth gets rid of the allergen, and you were aware of this because you knew Molly’s allergy best.”

  “That’s preposterous,” Bennett said. He was trying to remain calm but couldn’t completely conceal the ugliness in his tone. “I was the one who tried to save
Molly. I injected her with the EpiPen.”

  “Yes, you did,” I said. “But it was well past the time it would have needed to be administered to prevent a reaction severe enough to cause her death. That’s why it didn’t work. The peanuts had had plenty of time to get into her system.”

  He stood up from his chair. He looked much taller than I remembered. “I don’t know why I bothered coming today.”

  Officer Beamer immediately moved to Bennett’s side of the table to prevent him from leaving. There were four other officers stationed at the doors, and they readied themselves for Beamer’s orders.

  Bennett looked at me and then at Officer Beamer. “You can’t tell me that you’re taking a harebrained theory concocted by this… this crazy English teacher seriously?”

  “Dead seriously,” Officer Beamer said, holding up the white envelope in his hand.

  I hid my smile. Officer Beamer had a humorous side I hadn’t seen before, although it was true I didn’t know him well. “Of course he is,” I said, “because what he has there in his hand is evidence of your prescription drug amitriptyline, which is the drug that made Nick Dramsdor hallucinate and eventually kill himself in a fit of paranoia.”

  Bennett Jaspers sat back down in his chair, the weight of his large shoulders buckling him. The gray streak on the top of his head glowed white with the fluorescent lights bearing down on it.

  “Amitriptyline is an antidepressant, and though this threw me off at first—you didn’t seem depressed—I soon realized it is not only prescribed for depression, it is also prescribed to recovering alcoholics. You never ordered a drink at the French restaurant and your hands often shook—enough evidence to suggest this could be your prescription. So I asked myself how you went about poisoning Nick at the visitation, and it didn’t take long to uncover your method.

  “Nick’s coffee was cold, and as a family member, you would have been the first to arrive at the visitation to ensure everything was arranged according to your wishes before allowing the public to enter. This gave you the means to poison Nick’s coffee before you yourself handed it to him. It also accounts for the temperature and taste of the brew, into which you had dissolved several amitriptyline pills. You figured an overdose of the drug would kill him, and it might have, had he not killed himself in a fit of paranoia. That was a bonus, which made you so confident you didn’t hesitate to come here today and play the grieving widower. Pathetic.”