Murder Most Studious

by L. M. Thornburg

  Chapter 5

  As soon as I decide to figure out who killed Professor Brigg, I feel better. It gives me a little reassurance and something to focus on. I’m not sure where to start, but I know that when I’m feeling overwhelmed or unsure of what I should do next, writing everything down always helps. So, I take out an empty notebook and pen and jot down anything that I think could be important. This is not a lot. I didn’t know Brigg at all or much about him, but I’m an observant person. And I know my new friends will be a wealth of information.

  I’ll need to make sure I walk a fine line between seeming curious and morbid. Or nosy. That’s the thing with no one really knowing me. I hope to keep teaching at the school for at least I few years, and I wouldn’t want to get a reputation as being in everyone’s business.

  After I write a few things down in my notebook, I feel more in control of everything that’s been happening. I go over my lesson plans for the next day and feel more confident. I’ll go for a run in the morning and I’ll feel even better.

  Over the next few days, my classes go well and I don’t have any surprise visits from the police. I feel pretty relaxed by Friday evening heading to the pub with Freda, Samantha, and Cat. I’m realizing that there’s not a bustling night life here in Northern England, but I’m okay with that. More than okay, actually. Even when I was younger, I wasn’t much of a partier, and I find comfort in regularity. So if going to the pub every weekend is what people do for fun, then I’m happy to comply.

  The three of them are extra kind and solicitous, babying me a bit because of the investigation. I’m normally not a touchy-feely person, but after moving across the ocean, starting a new job, and stumbling over what’s looking like a murdered body, it feels good to have people caring about me.

  We order drinks and everyone talks a little about their week, then the questions begin.

  “So Freya said the police think Professor Brigg was murdered?” Cat asks as soon as the server brings our drinks.

  “Apparently,” I say with a little shrug. “They said they couldn’t give me any details, but they’ve found some additional information that makes them think it wasn’t suicide.”

  “I wonder what they found,” Samantha says. “Did they say it was physical evidence or just information?”

  “They didn’t say,” I answer.

  “If the police seriously think someone killed him, then that means whoever did it, pushed him off of the tower,” Freya says.

  “Perhaps it was an accident,” Samantha says.

  “Or maybe he pissed the wrong person off for the last time,” Freya says.

  “Freya, that’s so dramatic,” Cat says. “It could have been an accident.”

  “I mean, sure, it could, but I think it seems more probable that he made someone angry. He wasn’t the nicest person. I would run out of fingers listing all the people I know that hate him,” Freya says, holding up both hands.

  “Like who?” I ask.

  “Every female he’s ever come in contact with,” Freya says.

  “Be serious. I know he was a disgusting pig, but who do you think actually killed him,” I say.

  “I didn’t kill him, but I’m not sad that someone else did. He was an awful person and I’m not in the least surprised someone murdered him,” Samantha says, then takes a long drink of her wine.

  “I know Frank hates him,” Cat says, quietly.

  “Frank, the groundskeeper?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I don’t know why, but I’ve heard them yelling at each other before and Frank sounded furious,” Cat says.

  “I can’t imagine it being Frank. He’s a big teddy bear,” Freya says.

  I raise my eyebrows at her.

  “What? He is,” she says. “He just seems cranky, but he’s actually very sweet.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” I say. “I’ve only seen him twice, but he seemed scary, not sweet.”

  “He’s harmless,” Freya says. “I bet it was Brigg’s wife that killed him. We all heard the huge argument they had in this very room. She sounded angry enough to kill him.”

  “That’s true, but why push him off the tower. She could just kill him at home,” I say.

  “To throw the police off her trail, obviously.”

  “Or she was trying to make it look like a suicide,” I say.

  “Ooh, yeah,” Freya says. “I think we just solved the case.”

  We move on from the topic of murder to discussing the upcoming Fall Family Weekend. I try to concentrate as they tell me what is expected from the faculty and whose parents will actually show up, but I keep thinking about Frank and Mrs. Brigg. Surely the police will think either of them is much more likely to have murdered the professor than me.

  I tune back into the conversation when Freya asks, “How good at arts and crafts are you, Alice?”

  “Not very,” I answer. “Why?”

  “Ms. Bowerton likes us to make fall decorations to put around,” Samantha says. “To make the weekend seem more festive.”

  “Things with leaves, and pumpkins, and gourds. The girls gather greenery from the woods and we make wreaths,” Cat explains.

  “That sounds… fun,” I say.

  Freya laughs, “I can tell from your tone that you don’t actually think it sounds fun.”

  “Like I said, not very good at arts and crafts, but I’ll give it my best shot,” I say.

  We don’t stay too late tonight because Cat is getting up early to take the train to London to visit her family the next morning. This is probably for the best.

  Cat talking about visiting her family makes me a little homesick. I’ve only talked to my parents a few times since I moved, and I haven’t talked to my brother at all. My brother, Will, and I used to be close, but after he got married and had a baby, he’s been too busy to spend much time with me. And that’s fine. I get it. I’m sure my parents thought I would be married by now with a baby on the way, but that’s not how things have worked out.

  I’m close to my parents, but we’re also the sort of family that avoids talking about anything bad, so I haven’t really told them about what’s going on here. Other than that, a professor died. Still, it would be nice to hear their voices and find out what’s happening in Greenwich. It’s after five in the evening there, so they should be home.

  “Hello?” my dad answers after the first ring.

  “Hey Dad,” I say.

  “Alice! It’s so good to hear your voice. How are things across the pond?”

  “It’s nice. The leaves are changing and it’s a little cooler.”

  “And are your classes going well?”

  “Yes. I think I told you that a professor died and so there was a little drama for a few days, but things have quieted down. I think I’m really going to enjoy teaching here,” I say, only feeling a little guilty for lying. It would just worry my parents if they had any idea what was going on.

  “That’s good to hear. It’s quite an opportunity. Speaking of, if you get the chance to take a brief trip to Edinburgh, it would really help to further our research about the Stewart line.”

  “I hope I get the chance to visit Edinburgh. It looks amazing. I’m sure I’ll have some free weekends and I’ll be able to take the train north.”

  “I have some books and notes that I’ll send to you. They might help with the digging.”

  “Okay, sounds great, Dad. Is Mom around? I should say hi before I go to bed. It was a busy week,” I say, barely stifling a yawn.

  “She’s not here, hon. She’s out with Liz and Tilly.”

  “Well, tell her I called and that I’m fine. I’ll try to catch her another time.”

  “I will. Take care, Alice.”

  “Bye Dad,” I say and click end. I’m a little disappointed not to talk to my mom, but not surprised she was out. She has a flourishing social life and is always going out with friends. My dad is more of a homebody and likes to stay home reading and watching the history channel.

  Our ancestry
research had gotten pushed to the back of my mind, but I would like to get going with my research here. I would love to take a trip to Scotland and do some sightseeing. I’m not sure exactly how I should go about digging up records and such. Hopefully, whatever he sends me will point me in the right direction.

  The next day, I have no plans. I’m ahead with class planning and I don’t have any papers to grade yet. I know a nice, long run will do my head good, so I start with that. I crisscross between the woods and the sidewalks, not wanting to get too far away from civilization. In my head I know Brigg wasn’t just randomly killed and that I’m safe, but still. There’s a murderer around, and I don’t know who it is.

  Despite my nervousness, I find myself running towards the tower. I haven’t been near it since the morning I found the body, and since it’s a bright, sunny morning, I feel like I’m up for looking around.

  I look up at the bell tower as I run towards it. I’d noticed before that the tower is tall, but thinking about someone being pushed off of it makes me wonder how many stories it is. Looking at the windows, I would guess five stories. The windows are quite small. Too small for someone to fit through, so Brigg must have been on the roof with someone, but why?

  I stop running when I get to the base of the tower where I found Brigg that morning. They cleared all the police tape away a few days ago. The only thing left to show that something happened are the police footprints and torn up grass.

  I look around, but don’t see anything. I’m sure the police went over everything thoroughly, so I’m not sure what I expect to find. But then I remember the red button that I picked up the morning it happened. I should probably turn that over to the police. It might be evidence.

  I look up at the tower again and wonder how someone even gets to the top. There must be a staircase inside. I circle around until I find the door and try the knob, but it’s locked. Of course. I’m sure the police don’t want anyone up there.

  I spend a few more minutes looking around the base of the tower, but I find nothing, so I head back to my apartment. As I jog away, I see Frank trimming a tree. He doesn’t look up at me, and I wonder if he saw me trying to get into the tower. And then I wonder how guilty that makes me look.

  * * * * *

  Not until I’ve showered and eaten some toast, do I remember the button. I put it in my jacket the morning I found the body, but I can’t find it in any of the pockets. It must have fallen out somewhere that morning. I decide not to worry about it. It might not be evidence. It could have been on the grass for a long time before Brigg was killed.

  I spend the rest of the day researching Edinburgh and how to go about locating my ancestors. It doesn’t seem like it will be too difficult, depending on how deep my dad wants me to go back. I’m excited about the prospect of a trip to Scotland, and digging into my past is keeping me from feeling too worried about my future.

  Chapter 6

  Over the next few days, a bit of normalcy returns. I get up early to go for a run, grab a quick breakfast, and then get ready for class. My students have settled down and are taking part in class discussions. The sense of fulfillment I’m used to having while teaching is returning.

  Of course, things can’t always just roll merrily along, especially when there’s a murderer on the loose and I’m trying to figure out who it is. One evening I’m on my way to the dining hall, when I hear two girls talking inside one of the tree alcoves that are scattered around the school grounds. I can’t see who they are because they’re surrounded by trees, but despite whispering, their voices are carrying. Normally I wouldn’t try to listen in on students’ conversations, but certain words are jumping out at me, so I pause and listen.

  “I don’t want to talk about it!” a shrill voice says, louder now.

  “If you won’t talk to me, you should at least talk to Ms. Bowerton or the school counselor.”

  “It doesn’t matter any more. It’s stopped. He’s dead, so it won’t happen again. I’m safe.”

  “I still think you should talk to someone. Brigg the prig really messed you up.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Alice!” I look up, startled, and see Freya waving to me. “Wait and I’ll walk with you!”

  As soon as Freya yelled my name, the girls both ran out the opening on the other side of the alcove. I’m not able to even catch a glimpse of who they are, other than the mandatory uniform of plaid skirts and white oxfords.

  “What are you doing standing here?” Freya asks.

  “Oh, I was just wondering if I should go back to get a sweater, but I think I’ll be fine,” I answer, unsure if I should say anything about what I overheard.

  Freya and I chat about our days as we finish the walk to the dining hall, but I’m distracted by the conversation I overheard. And horrified. After listening to the girls talk, it seems fairly obvious Brigg was doing the same thing to that girl that he was doing to Samantha.

  Freya and I sit down at our table with enormous bowls of stew and chunks of sourdough bread. It smells delicious, but I need to get some information before I can start eating it.

  “Hey, I need to ask you a weird question,” I say, lowering my voice and leaning across the table towards Freya.

  “I’m intrigued,” she says, leaning towards me.

  “Did you ever hear about Brigg doing something to a student? Maybe the same way he harassed Samantha?”

  “No, he would have been immediately chucked out of the school. Ms. Bowerton would not tolerate anyone harming a student.”

  “But what if the student didn’t tell anyone?”

  “I guess that’s possible. I’m not sure. He taught here for a long time, surely if he was harassing students it would have come out. Why are you asking?” Freya asks, narrowing her eyes at me.

  “I overheard something a little while ago when I was walking to dinner,” I say, deciding to tell her. “One girl was telling another student that Brigg did something to her, but she would be fine now because he’s dead.”

  “That’s terrible! I think you should go straight to Ms. Bowerton. The girl probably needs counseling.”

  “I agree, but I don’t know what he did to her, or even who she is. I couldn’t see their faces because they were hidden in the trees and I don’t know the girls well enough to recognize anyone’s voices.”

  “Hmm. That is a predicament. Ms. Bowerton would more than likely kick you out of her office if you told her such a vague story. Maybe we can figure out who the girls are. Were there only two?”

  “I’m pretty sure. I only heard two voices.”

  “Did they say anything else?”

  “Not really. One girl said the other should talk to Ms. Bowerton or Ms. Overly, and the other said she was fine now. That she was safe. No specific details about anything,” I say, sighing with frustration.

  “That is not a lot to go on. Well, I’ll keep my ears open to any student gossip. Maybe I’ll hear something from another student.”

  “That’s something, at least. I don’t know what else to do. Whoever she is, the school has failed her by not keeping her safe.”

  “She’s safe now,” Freya says, ripping her bread in half.

  I don’t say anything, just begin eating. My soup is lukewarm now, but I barely taste it. Could whoever this student is have pushed Brigg off the tower? Could she be the murderer? I would say keeping yourself safe from a predator is a reason to commit murder. A good one, even.

  “What are you thinking?” Freya asks, raising her eyebrows at me.

  “I suppose it’s possible that whoever this girl is, Brigg did something so terrible to her she pushed him off the tower.”

  “That’s a dark thought. I hope that’s not what happened, although that would make sense.”

  “I know. It is dark. I’m just coming up with possibilities. Someone killed him. It’s possible that it was a student.”

  “I guess it’s possible, but not something I want to think about. Whether she did it not, I think we should st
ill try to figure out who she is, so she can speak to a professional.”

  “I’ll add it to the list of mysteries I need to solve,” I say, and then I change the subject because I can tell that this conversation is bringing Freya down. “Let’s talk about the family weekend coming up. I may need a little help with the decorations for my room.”

  Freya happily launches into a detailed description of everything we can make together. Soon she’s smiling again and telling jokes. Maybe it would be better not to involve her in the mystery-solving.

  * * * * *

  Once I’m back in my apartment, I jot down the conversation I overheard between the two students, as close to how I remembered it as possible in my notebook. Then I add ‘figure out which student Brigg hurt’ to the list of things I need to uncover. I wish I had more information to put in my notebook, but this at least gives me something to investigate.

  Although investigating is probably too strong of a word for what I’ll be able to do about finding out who she is. If I’m lucky, I’ll overhear another conversation that will help me figure it out, but that will have to be left to chance. Maybe I can figure it out some other way.

  If this student was being harassed by Brigg, that would mean he spent time alone with her. So maybe I should look in that direction. Maybe he had a student aid or did private tutoring. I add this to my list of things to find out. I would normally just ask Freya, but she seemed disturbed by the direction all of this is going. I don’t know her well enough to know whether she would want me to involve her.

  I put my notebook away and read a book until I feel tired enough to go to sleep, but it’s not a restful night. I have nightmares about voices coming from trees. I keep trying to find the person who’s speaking, but the trees just grow tighter and tighter around me while I frantically try to climb through. I wake up to a racing heart and I’m covered in a sheen of sweat.

  I’ve had vivid dreams all my life, especially when I’m under a lot of stress, so I’m not surprised by this. I take deep breaths, reminding myself none of it was real. I believe that dreaming can be a way our subconscious is helping us work through problems we’re having trouble with when we’re awake. This time, however, my subconscious is just confusing me.