I decide my first step will be to do a little digging into Mrs. Brigg. She seems like the most obvious killer of Professor Brigg, but I don’t know why she would kill Frank. Unless he knew she killed her husband and was blackmailing her. I don’t think I’ll be able to find out much about her here at the school, so I’ll need to go into the village or even Carlisle. Which means I have to wait until the weekend.
In the meantime, I’ll go to the library and look through some old newspapers and maybe check out some local history books. It would be good to learn more about where I’m living. Just so I’m not sitting around doing nothing. I’ve got to keep myself occupied. And maybe I’ll get lucky and find a clue.
* * * * *
The library is the oldest building on campus. I believe it was originally a chapel but at some point, was converted. It’s a beautiful, old, grey stone building. Some of the original stained glass windows were left and give off light prisms on sunny days. It actually has quite a large number of volumes considering how small the school is. There must be a few generous alumni that love books.
I’ve visited a few times since moving here, mostly to check out books to read for pleasure. I love libraries, of course. I love being surrounded by books and the quiet. There’s even a small reading room with a fireplace and plaid armchairs, if one is so inclined.
I met the librarian, Mrs. Ketzel, the last time I was in. She’s knowledgeable and interesting to talk to. I enjoyed our conversation about the best bookstores in the area. She’s not at the front desk when I arrive, so I browse among the history section, trying to find some books about the local area. I find a few that might be interesting and pile them on my arm.
I walk back to the front desk and see Mrs. Ketzel checking books back in.
“Hello Mrs. Ketzel,” I say once I reach her desk. “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Ketzel says, looking up from the computer and putting the glasses hanging from a chain back on her face. “You’re the new English professor. Remind me of your name again?”
“Alice Stewart.”
“That’s right. Scottish ancestors, is that correct?” she asks.
“Yes, that’s right,” I say.
“Now what can I help you with?”
Uh oh. Maybe I should have figured out a legitimate reason to be looking at old newspapers. I can’t very well tell her I have to find out who killed Frank, so I’m no longer a murder suspect.
“I was wondering if the library has access to local newspapers over the last ten years that I could look at,” I say, avoiding any reason.
“Of course. It’s all been digitized, which will make it easier for you if you’re looking for certain dates. Is there a certain date you need?” she asks.
“I’m not sure what I’m looking for exactly.”
“Look through whichever issues you want. I’ll bring up the digital newspaper section and you can take as long as you like. But if you’re looking for articles about the school, you won’t find much, except over the last few weeks. I’ve worked here for thirty years and nothing like what has been going on recently has every happened.”
“I know. It’s been pretty awful since I arrived,” I say.
“I can’t believe the police believe someone murdered Frank. I can’t think of any reason someone would hurt him. He was just a big old teddy bear. Professor Brigg, on the other hand…”
“I never met him, but it sounds as though he wasn’t that well-liked.”
“That’s a bit of an understatement. I don’t know why Ms. Bowerton kept him on. He was a lecher. And so pompous and rude whenever he needed my help with anything. I try to find things to appreciate about every soul I come into contact with, but I just couldn’t find anything redeeming about him.”
“By the way, did you ever meet Professor Brigg’s wife?” I ask.
“No, I don’t believe I ever had the pleasure. Why do you ask?”
“I was just curious about her. There was a bit of drama after the memorial service with she and Ms. Green,” I answer.
“That’s probably because Ms. Green seemed to be the only person who liked Professor Brigg. There was talk about the two of them. Mrs. Brigg probably got wind of it, and that’s what set her off. From what I’ve heard, she’s pretty flighty. Ms. Green seems like a lovely woman, though. I don’t know what she’d be doing with Brigg.”
“I don’t really know her either. I really only know a few ladies in my building. With everything going on, I feel a little lost trying to figure out who everyone is,” I say.
“Well, of course you do,” she says, patting my hand. “This school is small but complicated. Or the people are complicated. It’s hard to keep up with the changing politics. You can come by and see my any time you need to know any of the staff’s history. I’ll help you, if I can.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ketzel. It was lovely talking with you,” I say. She leaves to go shelve some books while I scan newspaper articles for anything that might be helpful in figuring out what’s going on.
After an hour or so, I give up. I have found nothing newsworthy that pertains to anyone with ties to the school. The only thing I come across of any interest is an article about Ms. Bowerton being hired as the headmistress ten years ago. The tone of the article suggested her appointment was a little controversial because of how young she was. Although I don’t think late 20s is scandalously young.
I check out the history books and thank Mrs. Ketzel again. It’s almost dinnertime, so I head to the dining hall to grab something quick to take back home with me. I’m eating a ham sandwich and am immersed in a book on the history of farming in Great Britain when my phone rings.
“Hello, Alice,” Malcolm says in his deep voice.
“Hi! How are you?” I ask.
“Busy. Sorry I haven’t called in a few days. It’s been bollocks at work, but I wanted to call and make sure we’re still on for the weekend. Aye?”
With everything going on, I’d completely forgotten about Malcolm visiting this weekend. I had planned on trying to spy on Mrs. Brigg. Although, I was more than happy to trade that in for some time with Malcolm.
“Of course! I can’t wait to see you. Are you taking the train?” I ask.
“I think I’ll drive. I have a car and it will be faster. I’ll leave work early, so I can be to yours around five, if that works?”
“That sounds great. I hope you’re ready for a boring weekend in the countryside away from the big city,” I say. I’m joking, but I feel guilty that I haven’t planned anything for the weekend. I need to talk to Freya to find out if there’s anything fun to do around here. I have my doubts.
“Aye, that sounds quite lovely. We’ve had a rush of ancestor hunting, and I’ve been working a lot. I’m happy to just stay in your bed all day.”
I feel my cheeks turning pink. “That could certainly be arranged, sir.”
“I look forward to it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Drive safe,” I say, hanging up.
I try to go back to reading about farming, but I’m too distracted after talking to Malcolm. I send Freya a text asking her about a good date spot. A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door.
“You didn’t have to come down, silly,” I say when I see it’s Freya.
“If I tried to text you all the information I have, my fingers might fall off, so I just thought I’d tell you in person,” she says, plopping down in an armchair. “Also, I’m going to need some more information. I assume this means Malcolm is visiting.”
“Yes, this weekend. With everything else going on, I completely forgot about it until he called earlier.”
“I think I would just stay in the entire time, if it was me,” Freya says, laughing.
“That was suggested, actually,” I say, blushing a little. “Just in case we want to go out and do something, though, what would you advise?”
“You should probably head to Carlisle because it’s close and the
re are actual things to do there. There are plenty of excellent restaurants and historical spots if you want to be a tourist. If you stop by the visitor’s center, they can give you a map of a walking tour. There’s a castle and some lovely parks if the weather’s good. I’ll text you a list of my favorite restaurants.”
“Thanks Freya, that’s so helpful.”
“I’m glad Malcolm is coming to see you. I’m sure you could use a distraction after this week.”
“Does everyone know the police talked to me?” I ask, feeling horrified.
“I’m sure they do, but they talked to several people, not just you. And it only makes sense that they talked to you. You’re the one that found Frank.”
“I know, but this is getting out of hand. I’ve never even been pulled over for speeding, and now in the last month I’ve been questioned in two murder investigations.”
“You’ve had some bad luck, mate. No one who knows you would think you had anything to do with either person’s death, though. Also, you didn’t set off my sixth sense, so I know you’re a good apple.”
“Thanks, Freya. Maybe you should talk to the police about how you don’t pick up bad vibes from me. Who does set off your sixth sense?” I ask, curious. Maybe Freya could offer some insight into the killer.
“Too many people to name!” she exclaims, laughing.
“Seriously, though. Do you have any idea who might have killed Frank? I mean, someone went into his house and poisoned him. They had to have planned it ahead of time.”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand why someone would hurt him. He was just a harmless old grump. He could be curmudgeonly, but that’s no reason to kill someone,” she says.
“I don’t understand it either. I’m working on figuring it out, though.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Alice. All of this seems like it could be dangerous. You need to steer clear of all of that and let the police figure it out.”
“The police seem to think I had something to do with it, so I’m not sure they’re going to figure it out. And I feel like since I’m not British, I’m an easy out for them.”
“Well, I don’t want anything to happen to you. You should concentrate on seeing Malcolm this weekend,” Freya says. “Oh yeah, one little tip. Don’t let anyone else know he’s staying in your apartment.”
“Why?” I ask, confused.
“The headmistress has a rule about ‘sleepovers’. Not that any staff would turn you in, but if anyone asks, just say he’s staying at the inn in the village, or something.”
“Thanks for the heads up. I didn’t realize that could be a problem.”
“We have to be stellar role models for the girls at our school, blah, blah, blah,” she says. “It’s ridiculous at this day and age.”
“That’s a little old-fashioned. I guess I can see her point, though. We do have girls living on campus with us.”
“I don’t see her point. It’s 2020, not 1920. Most of the girls in this school know way more about boys than I did at their age. Well, anyway, I’m sure you have things to do before Malcolm arrives, so I’ll go. If I don’t see you tomorrow, have a great time!”
After Freya leaves, I do a little cleaning. I’m a neat person, but with Malcolm staying here, I want everything nice. I want it clean tonight so that after class tomorrow I can pop into the village for a few things and then get myself ready.
I fall asleep thinking about Malcolm’s visit, which is much more enjoyable than worrying about being a murder suspect.
Chapter 13
My classes fly by, and then I’m racing to pack my things and get an Uber to the village. I’m making dinner tonight for Malcolm. I don’t cook often, but I have a few things that I can make well. One being beef stew. Not the most romantic meal for a date, but one of my favorites this time of year.
I pick up all the ingredients for stew along with oats for Malcolm’s beloved porridge and a bottle of wine. As soon as I’m back home, I chop vegetables for the stew. I like it best if it’s had a few hours to simmer, plus it smells delicious while it’s cooking.
Once the stew is simmering, I turn on some music and pour myself a glass of wine. I’m excited to see Malcolm, but also a little nervous. We still don’t know each other that well and he likes me at least enough to drive to England to see me, but still. There’s still the shadow of a broken heart in my chest, and I don’t want to experience that again. But I really like him.
I walk around my apartment, needlessly straightening things. It’s his first time at my place. And we haven’t seen each other in a few weeks. So lots of butterflies.
I can’t decide what to wear. We’re staying at my apartment, so I don’t want to dress up, but I don’t want to put on a faded pair of sweats either. I decide on a pair of skinny jeans and a grey sweater, with a matching lacy bra and underwear set. I pull my hair into a simple ponytail, then add a swipe of dark red lipstick.
I’ve given Malcolm detailed instructions about where to park and which building I’m in, along with how to get to my apartment once you’re in my building, so I’m not surprised when there’s a knock on my door right before six.
“Hi,” I say. “Come in.”
He looks delicious in a grey wool coat and jeans. I take his coat, put it in the closet, and then he pulls me to him and we’re kissing. Our hands are all over each other, pulling pieces of clothing off. Somehow I maneuver us to my bedroom.
“I missed you so much,” Malcolm says against my throat.
“I missed you too,” I say, moving his lips to my mouth and pulling him on top of me. All previous thoughts of avoiding a broken heart disappear.
* * * * *
A while later, I untangle myself from Malcolm’s arms.
“Hey! Where are you going?” he asks, trying to keep me in bed.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, pulling on a t-shirt. I walk into the kitchen and stir the stew. I pour us each a glass of wine and walk back to the bedroom.
“Thank you,” Malcolm says when I hand him his glass. “Something smells delicious.”
“I put a pot of stew on earlier. It’s ready whenever you’re hungry,” I say, snuggling back up against him.
“Maybe a little more of this before we eat,” he says, pulling me close. “How were your classes today?”
“Good. All the students seem to be settling down after another tragedy at the school.”
“Is everyone coping okay with that? Did the school bring in a counselor?”
“We have a counselor at the school, so we’ve encouraged the students to talk with her if they need to. I hope some of them are.”
“It’s crazy that this little school has had two deaths so close together. How are you doing with all of it?” he asks.
“I’m doing okay. I didn’t know Frank that well, and I didn’t know Professor Brigg at all.” I haven’t told Malcolm that I’m a suspect in the murders. We haven’t known each other for very long and I don’t want to scare him off. Dating a murder suspect would be overwhelming even if you’d been dating someone for a long time.
“Still. Didn’t you find Frank’s body? That can take a toll on a person,” he says, rubbing my arm.
“Yeah. You’re making me feel a lot better, though. I’m so glad you could come for the weekend,” I say, kissing him. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”
“Okay, I can tell when someone wants to change the subject,” he says, following me into the kitchen.
I get both of us big bowls of stew and we sit at the table eating.
“I didn’t know you cook. This stew is amazing.”
“Thank you. I don’t really cook, but I can make a few things that are edible,” I say.
“This is more than edible. It’s delicious. I’m stuffed,” Malcolm says, taking his last bite and pushing his bowl away.
“I like that you’re so easily impressed,” I say, laughing. “I can also make a pretty decent omelet. Don’t worry, though. I picked up oats for porridge in the morning.�
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“That’s thoughtful of you. I can eat other things besides porridge for breakfast, though.”
“I know, I just wanted to make sure you’re comfortable here.”
“Well, thanks. I’m pretty comfortable. I think I’m most comfortable in your bed, though.”
“Oh yeah? Well, let’s go,” I say, raising my eyebrows at him and racing him back to my bedroom.
Later, we snuggle in bed watching Netflix and talking. Despite everything that’s been going on, I’m incredibly happy and at peace at this moment. Malcolm makes me feel safe.
* * * * *
We spend Saturday exploring Carlisle. No rain in the forecast, so we’re going to visit the castle Freya told me about and maybe walk through a park. I’m sure Malcolm has seen his share of castles, but as an American they are unfamiliar to me and I find them fascinating.
Wandering around the medieval castle, I’m reminded of how old things are here, compared to the age of historical places in America. I feel overwhelmed thinking about all the centuries of people that have walked on these same stones. I’m grateful that it’s still here and wasn’t destroyed to build a shopping mall or a parking lot, so I can visit and get a tiny taste of what life in medieval times might have been like.
We walk to the top of a turret and look out over the countryside, past the castle. The wind whips through the window and I think about Brigg being pushed off of the school bell tower. Why would he be up there? Someone must have asked to meet him there. Why would he go, though? He had to find that suspicious. Was he sleeping with the person? If they were always meeting somewhere in secret, that might make sense. A lovers' tryst.
And then I think about how someone would push him off the tower. Did they have a fight, and it escalated, or was it planned? I close my eyes, trying to picture what might have happened. Brigg and his lover arguing about… what? She wants him to leave his wife, but he refuses. She gets upset and pushes him. He loses his balance, falls back, and grabs at her, but isn’t able to grab hold of anything to keep from falling.
Murder Most Studious Page 10
