I looked away, turning my attention to the field. “I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
“My neighbor’s dog got pepper-sprayed during your little caper. Hank thought he saw Sarge chasing three people. Was pretty sure they were women—one fat and two skinny ones. Sound like anyone you know?” I shrugged, trying to look as if I thought he’d lost his mind. “Drove away in a station wagon. What kind of car do you drive, Ms. Steele?”
“A jeep, not that it’s any of your business.”
“I’ll just bet if I check, one of the other Bobbsey Twins drives a station wagon.”
“This conversation is over.”
“Hope and I filed a police report.”
“I should hope so, if you were burglarized.”
“Watch your back, babe, ‘cause I’ll be watching you.”
“How comforting, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to watch me from afar, unless Hope’s with you, since you’re not welcome on this campus. Now, leave or I’m calling security.” I took out my cell phone and walked away, standing close to the bench, between Jared and the players. I prayed he wouldn’t notice that I was shaking from head to toe.
Jared stood his ground for five minutes, then stalked off in the direction of his car. It was at least a half hour before my knees stopped banging together.
Finally, Coach Freeman called, “That’s it, ladies. I want to see you downstairs after showers. Ten minutes, on the mats,” and the team dispersed. I caught Missy on her way by and suggested she walk back to the dorm with a group of friends. She nodded, then ran to join the pack.
As I crossed the field, Judith fell in beside me. “You’re taking a rather keen interest in lacrosse, aren’t you? Or are you on a new case, madam private eye?”
“It’s Missy I’m taking a keen interest in. Watch out for her, will you?”
“I saw you intercept Phelps. What was that about?”
“Keeping him away from Missy.”
“What for?”
“They’ve apparently had some differences this past year and she doesn’t want to see him.”
“That’s easier said than done. What’d you say to scare him off?”
“I raised the specter of Governor Pamela. That seemed to do the trick. She specifically ordered that we not allow him near Missy,” I said, repeating the lie. It seemed harmless enough, if it kept Missy safe. Besides, knowing Pamela as I did, I felt certain she’d insist on such an edict were she apprised of all the facts.
Since Judith seemed a little friendlier than usual, I asked. “Got a minute?”
“Just. What’s up?”
“I was wondering what you thought about Carolyn Santos’s death. Do you think her capable of suicide?”
“Haven’t a clue. Carolyn and I weren’t chummy.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Then you’re referring to ancient history, hon. Yes, we were lovers, but that was a few years back. A lot can happen in a few years.”
“Like what?”
“Like none of your goddamn business.”
“I’m trying to help, Judith, not open old wounds.”
“Look, people get new friends, new lovers. They move on.”
“And did Carolyn move on? To a new lover?”
“How the hell would I know? As I said, we weren’t close after the breakup. I kept my distance and so did she.”
“But you must have heard something, campus gossip, or a word here and there?”
“Nope. I gotta go.”
“Judith, what about the Carolyn you knew, when you were close? Do you think she was capable of suicide?”
She hesitated, an imperceptible shake of her head. “I suppose we all are, under the right circumstances. See you at dinner. And don’t worry, I’ll see that Missy is surrounded by her gang when she leaves the locker room.”
I watched her walk off, wondering what had caused this change in Judith Freeman. The haughtiness and sarcasm had vanished and in their place, quiet resignation.
CHAPTER 35
Since it was almost five, I headed for the arts building at the south end of campus, where I found Dinny waiting on a stone bench in the shade, staring into space, his expression grim. I called out, stirring him from his gloomy reverie, and he stood, features lighting up as the public persona took over. “I wondered if you were coming.”
“It’s just five now. Anything wrong?”
He pulled keys from his pocket. “Come on. Janitor’s locked up, but I think these’ll work.”
I followed him down several hallways to a flight of stairs leading to the second- and third-floor studios. “Carolyn’s office and studio are on the third floor. Students usually have access to the studios four nights a week. Carolyn was the one who supervised most nights, though, so we’ve had to lock up since her death. The building used to be open till eight every night, but with all the vandalism we decided better to be safe than sorry.”
“Any new leads there?”
“We’re pretty sure it’s local kids. There’s a lot of resentment toward Whitley kids from local teenagers. You probably remember it from your days. Can’t be helped. We’ve tried to open up the campus, offer afterschool programs for local kids, but I guess there’ll always be tensions.”
“Do you think it’s the same person that slashed Brooke’s tires and defaced your painting?”
He shrugged.
“What about the thefts in the science building? Fred Draper said you accused some of his crew.”
“That’s Fred for you, overreacting as usual. Of course we questioned maintenance. We questioned everybody. Had to. Fred gets hot under the collar whenever his men are approached. When we questioned a couple of local kids who worked for him last spring, he blew his top.”
“And?”
“And nothing. We asked, they denied. We dropped it. No big deal.”
Maybe not to you, I thought, resisting the temptation to ask if all of the faculty had been questioned. He opened the fire door at the top of the stairs. “Here we are.”
We stepped into the cavernous studio, air, walls and floors saturated with the smells of turpentine and wet clay.
The room spanned the length of the building, its vaulted ceiling at least twenty feet high. An eight-foot divider separated the ceramics area at the far end from the main studio, where fifteen or so easels sat empty, except for one near the east window holding an unfinished landscape of the view across the athletic fields. How often had Whitley students painted that scene? I wondered, deciding that this particular rendition needed further work. “Almost makes me want to come back and be a student all over again.”
“Great space, isn’t it? Built ten years ago. Your father gave a very generous donation.”
“I've never known him to care much about the arts.”
“He cares about you, Ricky. You and your work. Talks about it all the time. He’s always asking if we have space for a glass studio. Has offered to foot the bill for equipping it and everything. So far we’ve opted against it. Liability would be huge.”
I was having one of those unsettling moments where I worry if my perceptions about life and specifically about my father are accurate. I looked up, irritated to find Dinny staring at me. “So, where’s her office?”
“Over here.” We skirted the potter’s wheels and kilns and headed toward a door at the far end of the room. He unlocked it and reached inside to flip on the light.
“No windows? That’s odd.”
“It’s one of the idiosyncrasies of the building’s design. There’s a stairwell on the other side of this. The stairwell got the windows. The offices downstairs have windows and Carolyn could have switched. She had seniority over most of the others, but she wanted this one. She liked being next to the studio.”
Like her apartment, Carolyn Santos’s office was cluttered with papers, art books and a smattering of photographs, most depicting students standing beside their artwork. There were four of Missy, one in which s
he held a large, lopsided ceramic platter, two in which she stood beside small pieces of sculpture, and the last, a shot of her beside an awful painting of a nude. Reading my mind, he remarked, “I’m not sure our Missy is headed for a career in the arts, although God knows, Carolyn tried. She’s a decent photographer, though.”
I studied the other pictures and found a number featuring Livie. In most, she, too, stood next to her artwork, all paintings. Some of the work appeared to be in progress, and a series of three shots depicted her in different stages of work on a still life, a very decent still life. Noticing my gaze, he said, “Now, Olivia, on the other hand, is quite talented. Unless I’m very much mistaken, she’ll be heading to the Rhode Island School of Design in a year.”
“She’s a funny little thing, isn’t she?”
“Kind of a lost soul, really. Not well-liked by her peers, although I’ve never understood why. Horrid home life, sadly touched by a tragic accident when Livie was just five. She apparently took a younger brother for a walk and they both fell into an icy river. Miraculously, she managed to pull herself out, but the little brother drowned. It was one of those families where the son was the golden child. I don’t think they’ve ever forgiven Olivia.”
“Or themselves. Who lets a five-year-old take a younger sibling for a walk in winter? Poor Livie. I wonder if she’s forgiven herself?”
He shook his head, eyes scanning the room. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for. Can I help?”
“I’d like to see what’s on the computer, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” He turned it on and logged onto the network, then rose, allowing me to sit.
Her email inbox was empty, except for a few perfunctory school notices. The sent box was empty as well. I checked to see if her account settings specified automatic deleting after a certain period of time. They didn’t. Someone had been here before me.
I began going through her files, finding little of interest until I clicked on a file named “searching.” There I found eight or nine letters to other prep schools, dated in February, March and April of this year. Carolyn had been looking for a new job.
As I worked, Dinny paced in and out of the room, or stood behind me, looking over my shoulder. For the most part, I’d tried to ignore him, although it wasn’t easy. From the moment I’d seen him sitting alone and solemn on that cold stone bench, I’d been resisting the urge to throw myself at him. It didn’t help to have him inches away. I turned, finding him beside me. I pointed to Carolyn’s letter of job application. “Did you know about this?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you mention it before?”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
“Bullshit.”
“There was no point, was there? She hadn’t told anyone, not even Rolly. It was going to be very awkward, with the garden dedication and everything. We, Carolyn and I, had decided not to say anything until after graduation. She had gotten a job at Andover. She had just made the decision, three days before she died. It was a difficult choice for her, with so many friends here, but she thought it was time to move on. She wanted to leave last year, after all the unpleasantness with Jared, but I persuaded her to stay one more year. It is a decision I will regret for the rest of my life. I think she finally agreed because she wanted to see Missy graduate. Andover was a step up for her. It was a huge loss for Whitley, but I was happy for her.”
“So, you think the Jared business drove her off?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”
I searched through the remaining files. Zilch. Same with those in a dusty disk case on the desk. Finally, bleary-eyed, I shut the computer off and turned my chair to face him. “Don’t know what I expected to find, but it sure wasn’t here. Who has keys to this office?”
“Everyone with offices in the building. It’s a universal lock, opens all the office doors.”
So much for privacy.
“What are you thinking, Ricky?”
I explained about the empty email boxes, but as I finished, I could see his thoughts were elsewhere. “Look, Dinny, there’s something you ought to know.”
“Not now.” He moved closer, taking my hands and pulling me to my feet.
“Stop it. You told me you and Ellen are trying to patch things up. How will this help? Now, step back and listen. This is important. I am not a private detective. I tried to tell your aunt on the phone and she wouldn’t listen. It was a joke, the bulletin blurb. How did I know that idiot Bitsy would print it? Then, because I needed the money, I decided to try and pull it off. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from Barry Frost very soon.”
He laughed, grabbing my arms and pulling me toward him. “Do you think I’m that gullible? I know you, remember? Minute I read your so-called news, I knew it was a joke. First time you write in forty years, and what was it? You’re now a PI who ‘takes only the most difficult cases involving murder and mayhem’?”
“I see you don’t have anything better to do than memorize a newsletter.”
He laughed. “That’s one of your most endearing qualities, Ricky Steele, your naiveté. You always think you’re putting something over on the world, when in point of fact, you’ve always been as transparent as glass.”
Transparent as glass, indeed. I pulled away and made for the door. “I’m glad I’m the source of such amusement for you.”
“Hey.” He caught my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tease you. I was only saying that I don’t care whether you’re a PI or not. Let Aunt Muriel think what she wants. I just wanted to see you again, see what you’d turned into. And, may I say, I like what I see.”
“You’re way out of line and I’m late for dinner. I’ll never have time to run back for the clipboard, so Mabel Battleaxe will give me a tongue lashing.”
Still laughing, he assured me that there were spare dorm lists and clipboards at the dining hall. “But technically, those shorts are no-no.”
I rummaged in Carolyn’s closet and unearthed a couple of old sweaters and painting shirts. No dresses, big surprise.
“Go like that. You’ll be fine. What are they gonna do, fire you? You’ll probably get a few dirty looks, or a few admiring looks with those great legs of yours, no big deal.” His hand grazed my shoulder blades and I pulled away, spying a swatch of color at the back of the closet. Reaching in, I yanked out a blue-and-green batik wall hanging.
“Perfect. Turn around, please,” I said. When his back was turned, I stepped out of my shorts and wrapped myself in the green batik like a sarong.
“Now you’re talking.” He moved closer and I backed away.
“Cut it out.” I smoothed the cloth, wishing there was a mirror in the room. Luckily I’d worn a white tee shirt. The swirling batik was lovely. I wondered if Carolyn had dyed it herself.
He shook his head, grinning like the wolf he was. “You look too good to sit in a dining room full of adolescents. Come over here.”
Ignoring him, I grabbed my shorts and sandals and made my escape, managing to reach the dining room just as Mabel was completing her announcements. I received a frown for my trouble and when I requested an extra sign-in sheet, the frown deepened into a full-blown scowl.
“Really, my dear. This is most irregular.” After huffing and puffing, she produced a Round House list from the stack on her clipboard, waving off my attempts at an apology with a “Do sit down, Ms. Steele. We’re all waiting.”
CHAPTER 36
Dinner was meatloaf, one of my favorites. After three large slabs, accompanied by gobs of mashed potatoes and superb, institutional-style beets, I was more than full, but that didn’t stop me from having dessert—pasty tapioca that stuck to the roof of my mouth. Yum!
As I scooped up the last of my tapioca, I decided to bring the table conversation round to Carolyn Santos and asked how well my companions knew her.
“Ms. Santos was great,” said Janet Goldman, a tenth grader with braces and blond pigtails.
“Awesome,” agreed another s
ophomore, Mimi Wiggins. Mimi, a short, round brunette, was the only one at our table, besides myself, who had seconds on tapioca.
When dinner ended, I had learned zilch about the universally adored Ms. Santos.
Bloated and restless, I lingered in the foyer of Friends Hall, admiring the paintings and studying photographs lining the walls. As students filed out, Gerry Weinstein joined me, all smiles. He had clearly not overeaten and looked ready for an evening jog, even in khakis and a rumpled blue oxford shirt. “Ms. Steele, hello. How’s it going?” His eyes traveled the length of my sarong, which was threatening to unwrap under the pressure of my bulging meatloaf-and-tapioca-stuffed stomach. “Interesting getup.”
“Thanks,” I said, grabbing my shorts from under a table where I’d stashed them on my way in.
If he thought my actions odd, he refrained from commenting. “Congratulations on finding Missy. Quite a feat. Look good on your resume, if PIs have resumes.”
“About that—”
“Enjoy the notoriety while you can. You’re a hero, or heroine, I should say.”
“I’m surprised to see you here tonight. I thought you lived off campus.”
“Monthly dorm duty. I’m filling in at Cresta, giving the houseparents a night off.” He followed me out the door, and headed downhill alongside me.
“Isn’t Cresta that way?” I asked, pointing over my shoulder.
“Nice night. Thought I’d circle the campus, you know, walk off my meatloaf. There’s a great park across the street from Round House. Just a half block down Cherry Lane. Have you found it yet?”
“No, but maybe I’ll take a jog there tomorrow.”
“You a runner?”
“If you want to call it running. I hear you’re pretty serious.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Someone told me you and Carolyn ran a lot of races together.”
“Not lately. Haven’t been to a road race in over six months. Wendy’s into working out.”
Prepped to Kill Page 16
