Marlee jumped up from the loveseat and marched over to the glass-fronted bookcase in the corner. From atop she grabbed a brown hazelnut-scented candle sitting on a sunflower candle holder. She showed it to Diane, and they agreed that lighting it would be a nice way to remember and honor Logan while they were processing the day’s events. The soft hazelnut scent soon filled the home as Marlee and Diane reflected on their brief memories of Logan and the harsh realization that he was no longer alive.
So many rumors and so few facts are being discussed about my life and my death. Why didn’t it occur to anybody to ask anything other than superficial questions about my background? Apparently anyone can waltz into this town and start teaching at MSU without much questioning.
Makes you wonder what secrets others in this town are keeping.
Chapter 7
Marlee woke up to another day of cloudy skies and a steady drizzle of rain. It was a typical November day in Elmwood. Sunshine was a scarcity in the upper Midwest during November, and Elmwood was no exception. So many people were impacted by Seasonal Affective Disorder that the local hardware store sold out of the light-therapy lamps by late October. Anyone selling anti-depressants and light-therapy lamps could make a lot of money in this town.
The weather wasn’t the only thing sending Marlee into a downcast mood. As soon as she arose, she dashed to her front door to grab the newspaper from the mail slot. Of course the death of Logan LeCroix was front page news, but there was no additional information about the cause of death or any possible suspects. No details were disclosed about the gun reportedly found at the scene. The chief of police was quoted as saying that the matter was under investigation, and the manner of death was deemed “suspicious.”
Marlee slammed the newspaper down on the coffee table, accidentally waking Diane who was sleeping on the couch. She groggily looked up at Marlee with a quizzical look. Slowly, it dawned on Diane where she was and why she was there. Glancing at the newspaper, she asked, “Is there anything new in the paper about Logan?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing! It’s everything we already knew from the campus meeting and the TV reports last night. The police aren’t saying anything other than it’s suspicious. Really?” asked Marlee sarcastically. “The chief thinks it’s suspicious. That guy’s a real think tank,” she said disgustedly.
“Coffee. I need coffee NOW!” said Diane, slowly propping herself up from the couch. She was wearing an oversized white Betty Boop t-shirt with a hole in the armpit and a pair of pink long-john bottoms.
“Wow, you’re really styling,” teased Marlee.
Diane glared at her and said, “Well, we all can’t be the height of fashion like you. How long have you had that Guns n’ Roses t-shirt you slept in? Or is that what you’re wearing to campus today?”
“Ha ha. You’re a laugh riot,” said Marlee as she glanced at her black concert t-shirt and plaid flannel pajama bottoms. “Let’s get some coffee and try to wake up. I think this is going to be a really long day.” Diane nodded in agreement.
After several cups of coffee and showers, Marlee and Diane settled in at the oversized kitchen table Marlee used as her work desk. It was littered with books, quizzes, lecture notes and project papers, grading, several days’ mail and other assorted paper items. Beneath the clutter was a cat-hair-covered green table cloth. Marlee’s grey Persian, Pippa, was mysteriously absent during the previous evening, but now she sat in a snow-boot box lined with a fuzzy black and white blanket. The snow-boot box sat on the corner of the table, well out of Diane’s reach. Pippa only allowed Marlee to touch her and became downright nasty when anyone else tried to pet her or, god forbid, pick her up. Pippa appeared to be asleep, but Marlee could tell she was keeping a close eye on Diane in case she tried to sneak in a pet of her fluffy gray fur.
“What happened to the shoe box she used to sit in?” asked Diane, nodding toward the new box which had contained snow boots.
“She moved up a size,” retorted Marlee with a grin. They both laughed and agreed that, over time, most gals need to move up to the next size. Marlee felt guilty because her low carb diet had been on and off since the weekend, and she needed to regain control. After arriving home the night before, Marlee and Diane tried to calm their nerves with a few bottles of wine and Halloween candy. At the time, the alcohol/sugar plan seemed to work. Now, Marlee felt hung over and bloated. Her size fourteen dress pants were feeling very snug around the waist, which is where she tended to gain most of her weight.
Since neither Marlee nor Diane had to be on campus until ten o’clock that morning, they had some time to waste. It wasn’t even 7:00 a.m., and they didn’t think anyone with any new information would be on campus yet. Over their fourth cup of coffee, they continued talking about Logan and the possible explanations for his death. “Anybody could’ve killed him,” said Diane softly.
“What if it was one of us?” asked Marlee.
“You or me?” shrieked Diane, now clearly alarmed.
“No, not you or me. One of the other professors on campus. Maybe there was some type of rivalry between Logan and another professor. Maybe he got on somebody’s bad side on campus,” said Marlee.
“We’re dealing with professors,” Diane said. “We’re all on somebody’s bad side, on and off campus.”
She has a point, thought Marlee. Professors were notorious prima donnas who believed they were the center of the universe, and that everyone else was merely a supporting player in their show. Nearly everyone on campus was disliked or distrusted by at least one other person. Competition and professional rivalry held supreme at MSU, just like at other universities all over the world. Professors and administrators were known to fight tooth and nail over complex issues like changes to the curriculum, and minor items, such as who was entitled to a new computer printer. The competition and fighting in academia were so high because most of the stakes were so low. Couple that with a campus full of over-inflated egos, and you had a recipe for conflict at nearly every turn.
Diane rode with Marlee to campus since she had left her car there the day before. They arrived in the Scobey Hall parking lot just before 8:00 a.m. and hurried to their respective offices. “Okay, so if you find out anything, call me, and I’ll do the same,” said Marlee, rushing toward the east wing on third floor of Scobey.
“Deal,” said Diane as she scurried down the other third-floor wing.
Marlee rushed toward her office and as she rounded the corner she realized she would be walking by Logan’s office. It took her breath away as she passed the office where Logan once worked, and where Marlee would often stop just to greet him and ask about his adjustment to MSU and Elmwood. This still didn’t seem real. Yellow crime scene tape crisscrossed the closed office door.
After dropping off her book bag and coat in her office, Marlee made a beeline for the department secretary’s office. Everyone knows that if you want information you go to the secretaries. Plus, it was the usual gathering point for faculty. Not only did the small room house the department secretary, but the dean’s office was connected. Mean Dean Green would be the best source of information, but who knew how much he would disclose. Louise, the attention-starved secretary, would be better. Not only did she have big ears and a nose for news, she was also well connected with all of the other secretaries on the MSU campus. The main problem Marlee had with Louise was that she tended to be very selective in who she revealed her information to. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but Marlee was not one of Louise’s favorites. Louise was in her early 60s and tended to have a very traditional view of women’s roles. She fawned over the male faculty members, doing everything from making their copies at the drop of a hat to baking their favorite treats. The female profs received no such special attention. It was as if Louise felt they should be home making babies and supporting their husbands’ careers. Louise seemed particularly put off by the unmarried female faculty in the department, of which there were several. Marlee realized her best approach to finding out ad
ditional information about Logan’s death was to overhear Louise’s conversations with others in the department, although it would be tough to eavesdrop in such a small office and not be noticed.
When Marlee reached Louise’s office, she was relieved to see two faculty members, the dean and the janitor crowded around Louise’s desk and book cases. A somber mood hung over the room even though several people were rapidly talking at the same time. Dean Green’s voice boomed over the others, causing them to become silent.
“We can’t locate a next of kin,” said Dean Green. “We still don’t know much of anything about Logan.”
“Doesn’t the personnel office have some records on him?” asked Marlee. “When I started here a couple years ago, I had to fill out all kinds of paperwork that asked for emergency contact numbers and beneficiaries.”
“That was the first place we looked,” gruffed Dean Green. “For some reason, that information was never collected. He left those parts of the forms blank.”
“I didn’t realize we had an option not to list emergency contacts,” said Marlee. She wasn’t going to let the dean’s brusque manner shut down her questions.
“The personnel office might have let him leave those parts blank with the idea that he would come back and fill them in. Sometimes people need a bit of time to decide who will be their contact person or who will receive their benefits if they die,” offered Louise. Based on her answer, it was clear she had already been in contact with someone from the personnel office. Whether it was in an official capacity or for gossip was unclear.
“So what do we actually know about Logan?” asked Alexander Sherkov, the Professor of Russian.
Dean Green gave Alexander a long stare as if to decide what he would say. Finally he opened his mouth and said, “We know he was living in California, and he was teaching at a small community college there before he was hired here. After he was hired, I asked him if he had family moving to Elmwood with him, and he said he didn’t. He has a Ph.D. in French from UCLA, and his educational credentials all checked out.”
Alice Olson had just entered the room and said, “He had relatives in South Dakota.”
All heads spun around to face Alice. Her eyes were still red from crying, and she looked just as distraught as she had at the campus meeting yesterday.
“Why are you just telling us this now?” barked the dean. “Jesus, Alice! You know we’ve been trying to track down any relatives of his!”
“I just remembered it this morning. We were talking about his adjustment to South Dakota, and Logan said he’d been here before. He told me that he had spent some summers with relatives on an Indian reservation when he was a kid,” replied Alice.
“Did he say which reservation, or what their names were?” asked Marlee.
“No, I don’t think he said anything else about it,” said Alice.
“Who knows if those relatives still live in the same area or are even still alive? If Logan was a kid when he stayed with them, it would’ve been thirty to forty years ago. A lot can happen in that amount of time,” said Alexander.
“If he does have any relatives in the state, I hope they hear about his death on the news and contact us,” said Dean Green. Marlee, Louise, Alexander and Alice all nodded in agreement. This was the first solid bit of information MSU had on tracking down Logan’s relatives.
Cecil, the janitor, stood in the room taking in all the information. He was the person who had originally found Logan’s body and seemed to still be in a state of shock. At fifty six years of age, Cecil was the type of person who could go unnoticed in any crowd. His height, weight, hair color and facial features were all nondescript. The best characterization of Cecil’s appearance was average.
“What did you see when you found him, Cecil?” asked Alexander.
Cecil glanced nervously about the room, obviously self-conscious about speaking in front of so many people. “Well…,” Cecil hesitated. “I saw him on the sidewalk on his back. There was a bunch of blood all around his head. When I saw Logan like that, I ran to Thom Dole’s office to see what I should do.”
“Did you see a gun?” asked Marlee.
“No, but I didn’t stand there very long. As soon as I saw Logan, I rushed in to tell Thom,” said Cecil.
A commotion in the hallway drew Marlee’s attention away from Cecil. Two students majoring in Criminal Justice were making their way toward Louise’s office. They were discussing Logan’s death and talking over one another. Jasper Evans and Dominick Schmidt were two lively students who kept Marlee on her toes and the class discussions interesting. Their questions and comments, while quite lively, were also fairly deep when compared to other students their age. The two were sophomores, and both hailed from small nearby towns. Even though they both gave off the air of being farm kids, they had a sophistication that only watching hours upon hours of crime shows can provide.
Dominick stood six feet and two inches and had a thin frame. He had short dark hair and a permanent half smile, as if a running monologue in his head kept him amused. Dom had a quick wit and was frequently cracking up other students before and after class. He rarely spoke during class discussions, not because he didn’t understand the topic, but because he preferred to communicate in small groups.
Jasper was also quite tall, measuring six feet and three inches, but he had a stocky build and a mass of wavy blond hair. His hair was shoulder length when he took his first class with Marlee, but when he arrived on campus this fall he had a shorter style, although it was still out of control due to curls gone wild. While Dom was quieter in large groups, Jasper was an extrovert to the extreme. He loved asking questions, making comments and was a notorious practical joker. More than once Marlee had arrived in her classroom ready to lecture, and Jasper would tell her that campus was being closed on Friday for repairs. Dom would nod solemnly, and other students would follow suit. He typically pulled this stunt when the following Monday was a holiday, thus trying to score a four-day weekend for himself and others. “Really, you’re not going to cancel class?” Jasper would ask. “Well, all my other professors called off class.” This was a phrase commonly used by students to encourage faculty to cancel their classes. It was the equivalent of going to Mom and saying, “but Dad said I could.” It didn’t work on Marlee, but she knew several professors who would gladly turn a blind eye for the chance to cancel class. Although she couldn’t admit it publicly, Dom and Jasper were two of her favorite students. Their wit and personalities will get them far in life, she often thought.
“Hey, Dr. McCabe,” shouted Jasper. “We’ve been looking all over for you.” They crowded into Louise’s already cramped office. “Can we talk to you for a minute?” he asked, motioning toward the door with his eyes.
“Sure, let’s go to my office,” said Marlee. She didn’t want to miss out on the discussion going on in Louise’s office, but knew she could stop by Alexander’s office later for a recap of what she missed.
The three wound through the maze that was Scobey Hall until they reached Marlee’s office. She’d left the door ajar, knowing she would be back shortly. Her computer was off, and none of the answer keys or papers was in view of prying eyes, so she didn’t have to move anything for fear the students would see it. Marlee’s office was decorated with mementos from two trips abroad: behind her desk hung a large scarf featuring the Eiffel Tower; on the wall above two file cabinets hung a dishtowel featuring some of the castles of Ireland. The three bookcases housed an array of books on crime, criminal theory and criminal procedure.
“So, what’s up?” asked Marlee, after she motioned them to sit in the rickety wooden chairs which she had inherited with the office two years ago.
“Dr. McCabe, we’ve been hearing a lot of things around campus about… you know, the death,” said Jasper. Although Jasper and Dom were big guys, she had to realize they were only twenty years old and, really, just scared kids. Hell, she felt like a scared kid herself since Logan’s death.
“Like what?” asked
Marlee.
“Well, I talked to Donnie Stacks. You know her, the kid with the bright red hair who sits in the front in Policing class and asks lots of questions.” Marlee nodded, and Dom continued. “She knows somebody from the police department, and Donnie said was told that Logan was shot in the head, and the gun was found buried in a dumpster over fifty feet away.” Dom looked at the floor, nervous and uncomfortable with the information he had just passed on. “So, it can’t be a suicide if the gun wasn’t even near the body,” he said.
“Do you think it’s a mob hit?” Jasper asked.
“I don’t know about that,” Marlee cautiously replied. She had to be very careful with her words to make sure she wasn’t inadvertently starting a rumor. She might say one thing but the students might hear another and pass that along, attributing the misinformation to her. “Anything is possible at this point, I guess. Did Donnie know if there were fingerprints on the gun? Did the police trace the gun? Did she know if there were any suspects in custody?” The questions were flying through Marlee’s head and spilling out of her mouth with the same speed.
“She didn’t say anything else other than what I just told you,” said Dom.
“Who’s her source in the PD?” Marlee questioned. She really didn’t know Donnie all that well, but it wouldn’t be beyond the scope of imagination that a student could make up information as a way of feeling self-important.
Day of the Dead Page 5
