Day Of The Dead
A University Mystery
Brenda Donelan
Day Of The Dead
©Copyright 2014 Brenda Donelan
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
For Audra… after thirty years I finally followed your advice and wrote a book.
Acknowledgements
A book is not written by just one person. Several others assisted me in ways too numerous to mention. Thank you to those who gave me suggestions and support during the preparation of this book and previous writing. Anna Moore Roberts, Catherine Wade, and Johnny Bryan Ward all served the roles of sounding board, cheerleader, and task-master. My beta readers, Clay Finck and Becky Kuch, provided invaluable feedback on the first draft of my book; while Alastair Stephens, my editor, polished the final draft.
Many thanks go out to my friend Samantha Lund Hilmer on the design of the book cover. I also want to recognize Jeff Fullerton for the cover photograph, courtesy of iStock.
I want to thank my parents, Lawrence and Patricia Donelan. They taught me early on how to tell a story.
Finally, Nanowrimo served as a vehicle for me to develop my writing. It was during the Nanowrimo writing programs of 2012 and 2013 that I wrote Day of the Dead.
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Afterword
About The Author
No one expects to die on Halloween. No one believes something truly bad will happen to them. The worst that could happen is a scare from a child dressed as a mutant monster, or being the recipient of a prank played by a mischievous group of preteens. Back in 2004, however, Halloween night and the early morning hours of November 1st proved to be nothing other than deadly for one college professor.
It was the night I died.
Chapter 1
At 6:45 a.m., Marlee McCabe roared into a nearly vacant parking lot at Midwestern State University (MSU) in Elmwood, South Dakota, where she worked as an assistant professor in the Criminal Justice Department. It was Monday, and she had two morning classes, office hours in the afternoon and a three-hour night class. Mondays were her hell days, and once Monday night class was over, the week, all of a sudden, got much better. Unfortunately, Marlee did not spend her time wisely by prepping for her classes over the weekend. Halloween fell on Sunday that year, so both Friday and Saturday were deemed “party” days, with Sunday night reserved for handing out candy to the trick-or-treating neighborhood kids.
On Friday, she got together with a few of her friends from MSU for their monthly supper club meeting. This tradition was started two years ago by Marlee and Diane Frasier, an assistant professor of speech. They invited Kathleen Zens and Gwen Gerkin, assistant professors from the Music Department. Later, Gwen’s partner, Shelly McFarland, was added to the mix. Shelly also worked at MSU and was a therapist at the campus Counseling Center. The five-some got together once a month at the home of one of the members to eat, drink, and bitch about all things MSU. Initially, the group began as a way to showcase the host’s cooking. Over time, the focus tended to be less on home cooking and more on social bonding, as was frequently evidenced by the empty pizza boxes and wine bottles littered around the host’s home. The main topic of the lively conversation on Friday night was the new MSU President, John Ross, and how it was believed that he was running Midwestern State University into the ground with his ineptness and misguided views on education.
Marlee spent Saturday night in the company of the same people from supper club, as all five were invited to a Halloween party at the home of a political science professor. Thom Dole and his wife, Sheri, hosted an annual Halloween party, and this was the first year Marlee and her friends, all lowly assistant professors, were invited to join the festivities.
In academia, the Holy Grail is to be a professor with tenure. Tenure basically granted job security to the holders unless they committed some heinous act, such as bringing weapons to campus or being drunk in class. A few profs had affairs with students, but that did not seem to violate the norms of the campus. Hell, some thought being a professor meant open season on all students.
When starting a tenure track teaching position, one is typically hired as an assistant professor, and then promoted to associate professor and granted tenure after a few years of satisfactory performance. After another five years, the associate professor is eligible for promotion to professor. Each of these steps carried a pay raise and an increase in prestige. It was a huge honor and a sign of acceptance into the small academic community that Marlee and her friends were included in Thom and Sheri’s annual Halloween soiree.
On Sunday, Marlee chose to loaf around the house and watch six back-to-back episodes of Law and Order followed by a long, luxurious nap. Then she braced herself for the infestation of trick-or-treaters. She used to enjoy giving candy to the cute little kids dressed as ghosts and pirates, but times had changed. Sunday night’s gaggle included a preteen boy with his mom and younger sister.
“What are you?” Marlee asked quizzically, surveying his purple velvet hat and jazzy pin striped suit.
“I’m a pimp,” he stated with some air of impunity, while his mother giggled. Marlee handed him a couple of fun-size candy bars, and he, his mother and his sister moved on to the next house on the block. A group of four preteen girls rang Marlee’s doorbell and demanded candy. One was a sexy kitten, another was a sexy cheerleader, and in a total Halloween fashion disaster that would be talked about for weeks at middle school, two of the girls were dressed in identical sexy nurse costumes. Ohmigod! As Marlee handed them the candy, she resisted the urge to tell them their pimp was out soliciting candy too.
The final nail in the trick or treating coffin came around 8:30 p.m., when two teenage boys without costumes or any receptacles to hold their candy showed up at Marlee’s door and held out their hands without saying a word. Both just stared at her while she decided whether or not to give them candy.
As Marlee was placing a couple of fun-size candy bars in the hand of the shorter teen, he said, “I’m diabetic. Do you have any fruit?” Annoyed that the boys thought this was a drive-thru and she was there to take their special orders, Marlee said that she didn’t, even though there were several apples and bananas in her kitchen that would probably rot before she got around to eating them. Especially since she would most likely have quite a bit of candy left over. The boy said, “Oh, well, I’ll just give these to somebody else.” Then both boys cut across her yard into the neighbor’s and started laughing.
The
little bastards, Marlee thought. After judging all the trick-or-treaters, Marlee was exhausted and decided to open a bottle of wine. She decided red wine went best with the assortment of chocolate bars still in her wicker pumpkin candy holder and uncorked a bottle of cabernet. Starting Monday, she was back on her low-carb diet, which did not include candy or wine.
Since the entire weekend was spent on relaxation and social events, Marlee knew she needed to get into work early Monday morning. Her first class was at 10 a.m.–Intro to Criminal Justice–and she still needed to review her notes before lecture. Her second class was Policing, which was held at 11 a.m. Marlee’s lecture was in order for that class, but she wanted to finish grading some quizzes so they could be handed back. Her biggest worry that morning was her Criminology class that night. She had not yet re-read the chapter they would be covering and also needed to pull together some notes and devise an activity for students to use in applying the concepts they learned. Since Criminology was a three hour class, a great amount of time was invested in making sure there was enough engaging information to keep the students interested and awake for the entire period.
“Son of a bitch!” Marlee shouted, shaking her shoulder length auburn curls in disgust as she made her way toward the parking lot nearest her building. A fire truck was blocking part of the entrance to the lot, so she turned the steering wheel of her Honda CRV into the parking lot adjacent to the Athletic Center. Even though it was a small campus of around three thousand students, everyone always sought to park in the closest lot, especially during the cold months of the upper Great Plains, which extended from October until April. On this cold and windy morning, it would have been nice to scoot right into her office building instead of trudging into the wind across two parking lots to get to Scobey Hall.
Scobey was undoubtedly the oldest building on campus. The brown brick building consisted of three floors plus a basement. The building had two separate wings that were connected by an archway on the third floor. The only way to reach one wing from the other, other than to use the third floor archway, was to go outside the building and use another entrance. Scobey Hall was called The Maze due to its narrow winding staircases, which could not accommodate two people passing each other. Students tended to avoid The Maze because they could never find the office or professor they were hoping to locate. Professors either really liked The Maze or really detested it, depending upon whether they were student-avoidant or student-enjoyant. Marlee started out her days on campus with a positive attitude toward students, but as the days progressed, she became depleted and found herself sneaking off campus in order to avoid students and their never-ending requests for extra credit, make up exams and other special considerations. At least I had the good sense not to become a parent, she thought, knowing that hiding from your dependents was not only looked down upon in the family-worshipping community of Elmwood, but also illegal.
Marlee parked her CRV, flung open the door and hopped out onto the pavement. At thirty eight years old, Marlee stood at five foot three and one quarter inches tall. She had a plump frame that had caused her much concern since she was nine years old. As she Weight Watchered, Slimfasted, and Jazzercised, the weight would drop off quickly, but return with a vengeance, along with a few extra pounds, once she returned to her default states of sloth and gluttony. Weight was a constant battle for Marlee, but it also provided a handy excuse for her lack of steady boyfriends, occasional social awkwardness and anything else not going in her favor at the time. She was dressed in dark green slacks, a green and brown V-neck sweater with a tank top underneath to help conceal her overly-ample bust line and a brown rain jacket.
Marlee shivered and decided it might be time to retire the fall rain jacket for the season and break out a heavier coat, along with insulated gloves and a flannel scarf. She clicked along the parking lot in her brown suede ankle boots with stacked heels, which had the desired effect of making her over five foot five inches tall. Although she loved the added height, she felt a bit like she was walking on stilts at times. An uncoordinated big girl wearing anything other than flats or a low heel was an accident waiting to happen.
Walking toward Scobey Hall, Marlee steeled herself against the biting wind and chill. As she approached the fire truck blocking the entrance to the parking lot nearest her building, she noticed additional fire trucks, ambulances and several police cars in the background. When she had first seen the fire truck, she assumed there had been another water main break or a fallen power line on campus, since these things happened on a regular basis. As she drew closer to Scobey Hall, her stomach began to churn as the realization hit her that something serious was going on. She noticed yellow crime scene tape about twenty five yards beyond the farthest police car. Standing under a tree at the edge of the parking lot was a man she vaguely knew from campus. His name was Earl Dingus, and he was the director of finance. The short stuffy little man in a medium gray suit made eye contact with Marlee and offered a wan smile. Marlee approached him and asked what was going on.
“They found a body,” Earl said without a hint of emotion. In one minute, Marlee had gone from fretting about her class prep for the day to learning of a death on the campus that she loved. Her heart and jaw were in a race to see which could drop the farthest and the fastest.
“Who is it? What happened?” Marlee asked, clearly shocked by the news.
“The police aren’t saying,” replied Earl, who averted his eyes and looked into the distance at nothing in particular. A thousand thoughts hit the young assistant professor’s mind at once. Her first notion was that it was a suicide since, in her mind, there were several unstable people on campus, most of them professors and several in the College of Arts and Sciences branch in which her own department was housed. It also wouldn’t be too far-fetched to think that a student had taken his or her own life in an act of loneliness and desperation. Then she thought of the number of middle-aged, overweight and out of shape professors on campus that were on the fast-track for a heart attack. Perhaps a professor or janitor, working over the weekend, had fallen down the winding marble steps in The Maze and suffered a fatal injury.
It occurred to Marlee that she was not solely reliant on Earl Dingus for information on the situation since there were loads of police officers, ambulance attendants and a few student bystanders nearby. She could approach one of the police officers for more information, which might actually work if she could find one of the officers who had taken some of her Criminal Justice classes. Earl Dingus must have read her mind. “Faculty and everyone else are supposed to go straight to the Student Union and wait there.”
Frack! Well, Marlee could go to the Student Union, but take her time getting there and see what she could find out along the way. She nodded to Dingus that she understood and shouldered her brown leather book bag, clomping toward the Student Union. As she got closer to Scobey Hall, Marlee noticed that two of the police officers had protective plastic booties slipped on over their regular footwear. She knew this was to avoid contamination of crime scenes, which gave her a clue as to the nature of this incident. Obviously it was a crime or at least a suspicious death, or else there would be no need to protect the area from contamination of whatever was stuck to the bottom of the officers’ shoes. Since Marlee taught a class on Crime Scene Investigation, she knew that deaths were frequently treated as suspicious until a cause could be determined. This might be a heart attack or other type of fatal injury and not necessarily a murder.
She neared the dumpster located on the south edge of Scobey Hall and, as she did so, she noticed a sandal-clad foot and bloodstains on the cement. Marlee gasped for air, and her hand flew to her mouth. She had never seen a dead body before except at a funeral, and even then she tried not to look at the corpse in the casket because it creeped her out. Viewing a dead body at a funeral always seemed a morbid way to remember somebody. She preferred remembering the deceased during better times rather than when they were heavily made up, lying stiff in a coffin.
Marlee could not approach any closer as police officers were steering away any onlookers. Other than a glimpse of the foot, which was clad in a navy blue sock and a brown Teva sandal, she had no idea who the deceased could be. Given the sock-sandal combo, she assumed it was a professor, since none of the traditional college-age students would be seen wearing that. Marlee turned to walk around the other side of Scobey Hall on her way to the Student Union. The lone car in the parking lot was an older model Porsche two-seater. The black sports car was owned by Logan LeCroix, the new French professor. Although Logan had only been on campus since late August, everyone knew his car because it looked like a toy compared to the SUVs and four-wheel drive pickups that populated Elmwood. In fact, he had even talked to Marlee about storing his car in her garage over the winter since there was no way the little two-seater would make it over the smallest of snow banks. The clearance on his car was just a few inches, and it would not be drivable after October due to the early onset of winter, marked by vast amounts of snow. The conversation had occurred a couple weeks ago at her house party when Logan began discussing buying an additional vehicle to get him around Elmwood during the winter.
Hmm. Logan must have been working all weekend, thought Marlee. No wonder he didn’t make it to Thom and Sheri’s Halloween party on Saturday night. Everyone she spoke with at the party thought this was odd since it was practically social suicide not to attend a function hosted by a tenured professor, especially since Logan was in his first year at MSU.
Marlee couldn’t believe that she was thinking of the Halloween party at a time like this. Someone was dead on the MSU campus, right near the entrance to her building! She walked past the library toward the Student Union and actually brushed against Della Halter, a colleague in her department, as she exited the library.
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