Day of the Dead

by Brenda Donelan

  Russell took the chair Celeste offered him. “I would like to ask you a few questions about Logan LeCroix. I see his office is right across the hall from yours. How well did you know him?”

  “Well,” breathed Celeste, “I knew him better than anyone else on campus. Our offices are very near each other, you see. I teach some classes at night, and he was around Scobey Hall most evenings, so we spent time sharing ideas. We planned to collaborate on a research paper and also team teach a class.” Celeste sat even straighter in her chair, thrilled to share her association with Logan.

  “What were the two of you planning to research and teach?” asked Russell.

  Celeste was a bit flustered. She had overstated her connection to Logan, and Russell busted her on it. Most students thought she knew what she was talking about and rarely questioned her. They took at face value the information Celeste provided them, inside and outside the classroom. “Because we were both so busy, we really hadn’t worked out the specifics yet,” Celeste stated.

  Russell let it slide and moved along in his questioning. “What else did you talk about besides your academic disciplines?”

  “We spent many nights discussing religion and our views on it,” said Celeste. “Logan had views very similar to mine. He did not buy into most of the conventional religions.”

  “What is your religion, or your belief system?” asked Russell.

  “My beliefs are most closely related to paganism,” Celeste stated proudly. Russell raised his eyebrows, questioning what paganism entailed. Not waiting for Russell to ask further questions about it, Celeste launched into a detailed explanation of paganism which lasted for 15 minutes.

  “So, basically, it’s a worship and celebration of nature?” asked Russell. He had just summarized her monologue on paganism to one statement, and Celeste was clearly not appreciative of his efforts.

  “I guess you could say that, if you were trying to boil it down to its most reductive form,” sniffed Celeste.

  “Did Logan tell you he was a pagan?” asked Russell.

  Celeste hesitated. She was busted again for overstating facts. “No, I don’t think he ever really said he was outright, but based on some of his comments I deduced that he followed the pagan traditions.”

  “Like what?” questioned Russell. This guy was good. He had a well-tuned BS detector.

  “Um, I guess I can’t recall anything specific at the moment,” Celeste stalled. “This has all been such a terrible shock. I just can’t believe he’s dead.” Celeste picked up a tissue, dabbing at the corner of her eye. She was pulling out all the stops to make sure the reporter did not find out how little she actually knew about Logan.

  “One last question,” said Russell. “Do you have any idea as to who might have killed Logan?”

  “No, I don’t,” said Celeste “but I think it must be somebody from outside the Elmwood community.”

  “Why do you say that,” asked Russell, his curiosity piqued.

  “Just a hunch,” said Celeste as she stood up and motioned Russell Berg toward the door.

  Marlee sat in her office next door, listening to the exchange between Russell Berg and Celeste’s attempts at coming off as an expert on Logan and also as his best friend, a ruse that was foiled by Russell’s follow-up questions. When Celeste couldn’t provide adequate detail, he realized that she was just trying to make herself sound important. Marlee rolled her eyes at Celeste’s comments and smiled when Russell asked for substance to her claims. What was she thinking, talking to a reporter? Marlee thought. Surely no good could come out of this...

  After making a few phone calls and checking in with Diane for updates, Marlee walked down to the secretary’s office for the umpteenth time that morning. Passing by Asshat’s office, she saw him making wild gestures and talking to Russell Berg, the reporter. She had to hand it to him. Russell sure seemed to have a knack for knowing which profs would openly talk to him on the record. Asshat let out a loud, evil snicker, but Marlee didn’t hear any laughter coming from Russell. Nobody seemed to get as big of a kick out of Asshat as he himself did. Leave it to Asshat to find something funny about a death on campus, thought Marlee with a touch of bitterness.

  Alice was sitting in Louise’s chair when Marlee arrived in the secretary’s office. She looked up when Marlee entered and gave her a weak smile, her eyes just as red from crying as they had been the previous day. “Hi, Marlee,” she said. “Have you heard anything new about Logan’s death?” That seemed to be the new opening line everyone uttered upon seeing anyone.

  “No, I really haven’t heard much else since I saw you earlier this morning. A couple of detectives stopped by, and I talked to them. Then a newspaper reporter was milling around, and both Celeste and Asshat talked to him,” Marlee recounted. “How about you?”

  “I talked to the Bernhart Funeral Home, and they said I could come in and see Logan one last time,” Alice said, her voice quavering and tears forming in her eyes.

  Marlee stood with her mouth wide open and her eyes bulging from her skull. “Do you really want to see him looking like that?” she asked, envisioning him covered in blood and riddled with bullet holes.

  “They said they will have him cleaned up after the medical examiner releases the body later today. They have to complete the autopsy, and then the funeral home can pick him up and prepare him for burial,” said Alice. “If that’s what the family wants,” she quickly added.

  “Still no word on the family?” Marlee asked.

  Alice shook her head. “Do you want to go with me to see Logan this afternoon?” she asked, anxious for Marlee to accept the invitation.

  “I’m sorry, Alice, but I just don’t think I can do it,” said Marlee. Although she had worked for years dealing with people who committed heinous crimes, she didn’t have much of a stomach for the blood and guts associated with the crimes. She had a hard time going to funerals and wakes, especially if the body was on view. “I’m surprised you’d be able to handle it.”

  “I know. At first I didn’t think I’d be able to either, but I feel like I need to be there for him. Logan needs to know someone cares for him,” said Alice.

  Marlee felt guilty, but she knew deep down that she would not be able to handle seeing Logan, dead. “You’re a good person. I wish I had the strength to do it,” Marlee said. Alice looked at her and shrugged, as if she really had no other option than to visit Logan.

  “Why are you watching the office for Louise? Who’s watching your office?” asked Marlee.

  “Louise had to run to the campus post office to get the morning mail, and her work-study student had to leave early. My work-study student, Jeremy, is watching my office, so I told Louise I would hold down the fort until she made it back. There have been a lot of people and phone calls in here today about Logan, and the Dean doesn’t want anyone to find an empty secretary’s office,” Alice replied.

  On one hand, it was wise to have someone to field any questions that might arise, even if no new information was available. On the other hand, the dean was likely trying to make sure everyone in the College of Arts and Sciences was hard at work. With all the media attention, an empty secretary’s office might reflect poorly on him.

  Marlee, as well as many other professors, students and staff, continued to circulate around campus the remainder of the day in an effort to garner new information about Logan’s death. At 2:00 p.m., an email from the dean was sent to the faculty and staff of the College of Arts and Sciences. He called a mandatory meeting for that day at 4:00 p.m. in the Putnam building. This piqued Marlee’s curiosity, making her wonder what he had to report, and why it was just for their college and not the whole university. In two hours’ time, she would have her answers.

  At three forty-five, Marlee made her way to Room 202 in the Putnam building, stopping by Diane’s office on the way. Diane looked as bedraggled as Marlee felt. Her long blonde hair was mussed, and her black-framed glasses sat askew on her nose. It had only been a day and a half since they
found out about Logan’s death, but it seemed like weeks had passed. The two entered the meeting room and found a few of the other professors and secretaries already there. If everyone showed up, there would be thirty five people, but not everyone showed up for meetings even if they were mandatory. Several faculty members in her own department were well known for drumming up so-called emergencies to get out of meetings. Most meetings were dull and pointless, and Marlee herself had scheduled a couple of doctor appointments and a hair appointment at the same time as a meeting to avoid the mind-numbing tedium. Most people seemed to realize that the meeting today might shed some light on Logan’s death, so it would be well attended. Faculty would not pass up an opportunity to garner information on a campus event, even when it was a tragedy like death.

  At 4:05 p.m., Dean Green stomped into the room. He looked crankier than usual. The room was filled to capacity, and a hush fell across the room as he marched toward the podium. “I know some of you have been talking to the press,” growled the Dean. “We need to keep quiet and let the police do their work. If you have any information on Logan’s death, then you need to tell the police, not the TV stations and newspapers. There will be disciplinary action if anyone else speaks to the press. A few of you have been asking a lot of your own questions. Stay out of it, and let the police handle it!” With that statement, the dean hiked up his pants to an inch from his man-boobs and glared at the audience, defying anyone to object to his directive. The dean took the faculty’s stunned silence for acceptance, and his face relaxed a bit. “Look, administration wants any information on the case to come from them. Otherwise, we have too many different stories coming from campus, and some might not paint MSU in the best light. We don’t want people to be so scared for their children’s safety that they withdraw them from classes and take them home or, even worse, enroll them in another university. From now on, the official word on anything to do with Logan LeCroix will come from the MSU president’s office. Only the president himself or his public relations director will speak on the matter to the media. You need to get back to the business at hand, which is teaching students. Don’t concern yourselves with the details of the investigation.”

  “Why is this such an issue?” Della questioned. “Did somebody provide false information to a reporter?”

  “A few people have been approached by a newspaper reporter and television reporters. Most have declined to be interviewed, but some opened their mouths and talked about it when they really didn’t have anything to say. All this does is spark rumors,” said Dean Green, being uncharacteristically patient with the challenge to his directive. The dean stared long and hard at Asshat and Celeste. Looking over her left shoulder, Marlee saw them sitting a couple of rows apart from each other. Both were sitting with members of their respective departments. Celeste did not meet the dean’s stare, but Asshat looked back at the dean with a defiant smirk on his face.

  “Does the administration know something they aren’t telling us?” asked Della, unable to let the matter drop.

  “Not that I know of,” said Dean Green, although Marlee sensed he knew a lot that he wasn’t saying to them.

  “Seems like y’all know more than you’re telling us. The cops aren’t saying anything. MSU administration isn’t saying anything. And now, we’re not supposed to say anything or even ask our own questions?” Della asked. “Seems to me if somebody with some answers would say something, then faculty wouldn’t be so quick to give interviews or speculate.”

  The dean stared at her, but Della would not look away. Mean Dean Green was able to cow many of the faculty members, but Della was not one of them. She held her ground while the dean thought about his response. Giving his pants another tug upward, he growled, “The fact remains that none of you are to talk to the press. Your job is to teach, not give interviews or conduct your own investigations. That’s final!” He stomped away from the podium and out of the room without looking back.

  Faculty and staff looked at each other. For twenty seconds it was as quiet as a tomb. Then the whole room was abuzz, processing the dean’s comments and reacting to his tactless dismissal of them. They were used to Dean Green’s unconventional and abrupt manner, but he usually didn’t end a presentation with the “because I said so” finale that so many parents use with young children. Marlee leaned over and tapped Della on the shoulder. Della turned around, her cold eyes looking even chillier now. “I think you hit a nerve,” Marlee said with a smile. Della grimaced while rolling her eyes, knowing there must have been an element of truth to what she claimed.

  Diane and Marlee got up to leave, both making a face at each other in reaction to the events of the meeting. They slid into the hall without being cornered by other faculty members. “What do you make of that?” asked Diane with a level of disgust in her voice that she usually saved for lackadaisical students asking for a second extension on their speech projects.

  “He knows something. This meeting was not just about public relations. Dean Green told us not to talk to the press because he doesn’t want us inadvertently tarnishing MSU’s reputation, but I think there’s more to it than that,” said Marlee. The question now was: “What was it that the MSU administration knew that the faculty did not?” Dean’s directive or not, Marlee was going to find out.

  There comes a time in every mystery when someone other than the victims and the perpetrators discover what really happened. If it’s not in their own best interest to reveal the truth, then they won’t.

  The mystery surrounding my death happened just that way.

  Chapter 9

  Marlee and Diane knew the safest place to have a conversation was at Marlee’s house. They both drove their cars back to Marlee’s home and met inside. Since Diane had shown no sign of wanting to return to her own home, Marlee gave her a key so she could come and go as she pleased during the uncertainty of the investigation. They had known each other just over a year, but Marlee trusted Diane implicitly.

  It was four thirty. Marlee grabbed a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. Nothing seems to help in a crisis as much as wine. Luckily, Diane thought the same thing and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet above the sink. Diane plopped down on the couch while Marlee poured two generous portions of wine. She was not one to fill a glass part-way, so they both had to lean over their glasses on the coffee table to avoid spilling on that first slurp.

  “What does the MSU administration know about Logan’s death that they won’t tell us?” asked Diane.

  “The cops might have told them facts or suspicions and asked them not to make the information public. Or MSU might have information independent of the police. Another thing I just thought of is that MSU might in some way be in the wrong,” said Marlee, sipping her wine and looking into space.

  “How would MSU be in the wrong?” asked Diane.

  “I think that any time a crime or an accident happens on campus, the university has to be very careful about lawsuits. When Logan’s next of kin are finally tracked down, they might allege that MSU was a dangerous work environment and not everything was done to protect faculty members. Or, administration might have been aware of some safety concerns, maybe even regarding Logan, and failed to do anything about it. There are all kinds of reasons that a lawsuit might be filed. Even if it’s ultimately dismissed, just the threat of a lawsuit would put administrators in a tizzy,” said Marlee. “At this point, it might just be a case of CYA… Cover Your Ass.”

  The two continued sipping their wine until Diane spied a wicker pumpkin full of candy. “Hey, is there any chocolate left?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to take it up to campus to give to my students. Leftover Halloween candy at my house doesn’t last too long,” said Marlee.

  “I need some!” said Diane, grabbing for the half-full gallon-sized bowl.

  Marlee was on a low carbohydrate diet but made allowances for beer and wine because not to do so would be just plain insane. Candy was another story. For the past month, minus the past few days, she
had done fairly well on her low carb program and had lost eight pounds. When she could keep a rigid schedule and there were no stressors, Marlee did very well at dieting. One mild upset tended to derail the whole program and throw her back into eating carbs in lethal doses. Given the events of the past several hours, Marlee was surprised that she hadn’t already devoured that bowl of candy. Diane popped a second piece of dark chocolate in her mouth as Marlee was unwrapping her first. They ate most of the candy in the pumpkin bowl, finished off the first bottle of wine and opened a second. Marlee rubbed her stomach, feeling a bit queasy from the chocolate and wine combo. Plus, the jeans she had worn to work that day were cutting into her stomach. “I think we need to eat some real food with nutrition,” groaned Marlee.

  “Do you have any vegetables? We could make stir fry,” suggested Diane.

  “Nah, let’s just order pizza.”

  “Okay, pizza it is!” shouted Diane, easily warming to the idea.

  Forty five minutes later, an open pizza box sat atop the coffee table, surrounded by paper plates, wine glasses, candy wrappers and paper towels. “I love pizza so much. I wish I could marry it,” said Diane as she stuffed a piece of crust in her mouth.

  “Me too. And who ever thought of putting broccoli on pizza? It’s really good. Plus it makes me feel like I’m eating something healthy,” said Marlee in between giant bites of her veggie pizza. Both had changed into sweat pants, which allowed them the satisfaction of eating extra pieces of pizza without the consequence of tight waistbands.