The Skeleton Stuffs a Stocking

by Leigh Perry

  Instead we talked about Andrew’s dissertation. At least, he talked about it. We listened. Madison was openly bored, and the only thing that kept me from showing my own complete lack of interest was remembering how obsessed I’d been with my own doctoral research. I just hoped my table manners had been better.

  After the dishes were tended to, Phil and Andrew went into my parents’ study, Mom settled onto the couch with a book, Madison retreated to her room for homework and online gaming—hopefully in that order—and I headed for the attic to visit Sid.

  I expected that he’d be fascinated by what I’d learned about the discovered remains, but instead he rushed me through the explanation so he could run some more Christmas shopping ideas by me.

  I didn’t stay with him long. Instead I told him I had work to do and went to my own room, where I spent more time wondering how the woman we’d found had died than I did marking up grammatical errors. I only made it through a handful of papers before calling it quits and going to bed.

  Once I’d finished my next day’s classes at Bostock, I checked my email again, and since I still hadn’t received any official communication about the supposed strike, I took the shuttle bus to the faculty lounge to see if I could dig up somebody who paid more attention to such things. My friend Charles Peyton was there chatting with somebody from the history department, but when he saw me, he excused himself and came toward me.

  “Georgia, just the person I was hoping to encounter.”

  “Hi, Charles.”

  Charles was another adjunct, and our job paths had crossed enough times for us to become good friends. This semester, he was teaching classes at both Bostock and McQuaid.

  “Georgia, are you free for lunch?”

  “I am, actually. Where would you like to go?”

  “I was thinking of the Stock Pot. It’s tomato basil soup day.”

  “That sounds great.”

  The Stock Pot was a student-run business, like many of the Bostock services, and since it was in the same building as the faculty lounge, we didn’t have to catch the shuttle bus again. The place was decorated in what I think of as American pub, meaning what Americans think an English pub looks like: dark wooden booths and tables, dart boards, and neon Guinness beer signs. They serve mostly soup and sandwiches, and their tomato soup is one of their best.

  We found a table, and Charles helped me with my coat before holding the chair for me.

  With most men, this would have been a romantic gesture, but Charles treated all women that way. He was a historian with a specialty in the Pax Britannica, 1815 to 1914, and I’ve never been sure if his formality in manners and attire was a result or if he’d picked that period because he liked formality in manners and attire. That day he was wearing one of his tweed suits with a waistcoat and freshly shined shoes.

  Once we’d given the waitress our orders, Charles said, “I’m delighted that you could come on such short notice.”

  “Actually, I wanted to pick your brain about something.” I lowered my voice. “Have you heard anything about a strike on campus?”

  “Sadly, yes. The new core curriculum requirements are causing a ripple effect of greater workloads, and to make matters worse, insurance costs have taken a sharp rise, and the college is trying to pass some of those costs on to the faculty.”

  “Ouch. Giving them more work and cutting into their paychecks is a bad combination.”

  “Agreed. Contract negotiations are nearly at a standstill. Having all this happen so close to the holidays is particularly unfortunate.”

  The waitress brought our tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwich combos and we dug in.

  I was about to ask if Charles knew anything about Bostock hiring more adjuncts when he said, “I must confess that I invited you under false pretenses. Not that your company isn’t always a pleasure, of course, but I have something to ask you about.”

  “Ask away.”

  “I heard talk of your unpleasant discovery last week.”

  “The adjunct grapevine is swift, and in this case, accurate.”

  “I was wondering if you’d be willing to tell me about the remains you helped the police locate. Not, of course, if it would upset you to talk about it.”

  “No, it’s fine.” I was just surprised Charles had asked. He was usually so unwilling to intrude on other people’s privacy that he never asked about anything unless he was sure that the topic would be welcome. I told him about Byron bringing home the bone, though of course I left out the part about us thinking it had been Sid’s, and then how the dog had led us to the rest of the skeleton.

  “You saw nothing else? Nothing at all?”

  “Just some fabric,” I said, remembering what Sid had said. “It looked like a shirt, but the police hustled me away before I could see much.”

  “Was the shirt a dark red, by any chance?”

  I blinked. “It was faded, but I think so. How did you know that?”

  In another departure for Charles, he didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his suit’s breast pocket to pull out a street map of Pennycross. “Could you show me exactly where the body was?”

  “Sure.” With my finger, I followed the path we’d gone that night and pointed to the lot. “Right there. I understand there used to be a house there.”

  “Yes. There was.” He put the map back into his pocket and stared into space for a long moment.

  “Charles?”

  He shook himself. “I must again apologize. It’s just that I am very much afraid that I know the identity of the woman you found, and when I disclose this information to the police, I may very well be arrested for murder.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Charles!” I said. “There’s no way you’d murder somebody.”

  “I appreciate your faith in my character, and I assure you that I did not kill her. I just don’t know that the police would accept my innocence.” He took a swallow of his tea. “Georgia, you have long been aware of my unusual living arrangements.”

  I nodded. Like most adjuncts, Charles didn’t make much money and, unlike me, didn’t have parents he could live with. So he’d given up on buying or even renting a home. Instead he squatted. Sometimes he took up residence in a vacant classroom or office, or stayed with a friend, or even shared a trailer at a carnival. I’d given him a room a few times in the past, but he refused to stay more than three days. Since squatting in campus buildings could have gotten him fired, I’d carefully kept his secret. I’d never even told Madison, though Sid and two of my former boyfriends knew.

  He said, “Some ten years ago, when I was first teaching at Pennycross, I learned that the Nichols house had been left vacant, and after careful investigation, I moved in.”

  “I heard the previous owner was a hoarder.”

  “So I understand, but I didn’t take up residence there until after her heirs had cleared the place out. They had not cleaned it particularly well, but that was easily remedied.” He made a face. “Well, not easily, given how long it had been since the owner had maintained it properly, but remedied just the same. There’d been talk of the house being torn down, but since there was pushback from the community, I thought it would be safe to inhabit for a few weeks. There was even running water and electricity, though I used as little as possible of either since I didn’t want to take advantage of those paying the bills.

  “I set up in the cleanest of the upstairs bedrooms. It had dark curtains, so I wouldn’t be seen from the outside. Since my last few homes had been quite small, it was a pleasure to have room to spread out for a change. Other than having to pack my effects into a closet each morning, park my car elsewhere, and arrive after dark to avoid being seen, it was ideal.”

  Only Charles would think that sneaking into a dirty house every night was ideal.

  He went on. “I’d been staying there some three weeks when I came home and realized somebody else was in the house. My initial thought was that it was the owners,
so I was trying to get to my room to gather my belongings before I was discovered. That’s when I came across her.”

  “Her?”

  “Rose. That wasn’t her real name. I never knew her real name, but Shakespeare gave me the idea. ‘That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’ Excuse me, I’m getting ahead of myself. One night I returned to the house and found a woman sleeping in what I had considered my room.

  “She later told me she didn’t know anybody was living there and only chose that room because it was the cleanest in the house. As I stared at where she lay wrapped up in her coat, feeling like nothing so much as Baby Bear finding Goldilocks in his bed, she woke up and screamed. The next few moments were confusing, as you might imagine. She understandably feared that I meant her harm, and I was trying to quiet her to keep from alerting the neighbors, who would then contact the police.

  “Eventually we both calmed down enough to discuss the situation. I told her why I was there, and though she was not as forthcoming with her explanation, I felt sure that she had good reasons for her discretion. After some discussion, we agreed that there was no reason we couldn’t both stay in the house, at least for the night, since neither of us had anywhere else to go. Naturally, I loaned her my sleeping bag and let her keep that room while I made do with an extra blanket in another room.”

  “Naturally,” I said, amused by his unfailing chivalry.

  “The next day was Saturday, so I didn’t have to work, which gave us time to become better acquainted and to negotiate arrangements. The house was large enough to accommodate two squatters as long as we were careful to avoid being seen, and she assured me she would be. As a matter of fact, Rose rarely left the house at all.”

  “And you don’t know why?”

  “I do not. She was obviously afraid of someone, but I never learned more than that.”

  “I take it that you didn’t spend much time with one another.”

  “On the contrary, we became constant companions. We took turns with meals and cleaning, though we did have to use my equipment and supplies since she was inadequately prepared for squatting. All she had was what she was wearing, including appropriate outerwear, her purse, and an overnight bag in which she carried a change of clothes, some toiletries, and a few books. She told me she’d left her phone behind so she couldn’t be traced. She did have some money and insisted on paying for her share of the food, though she did ask me to do the shopping.

  “At first our cohabitation was a convenience, but as the days went by, it became something more. We read, watched movies on my computer, and talked so late into the night I was barely keeping up with my work. Though Rose avoided any topic that might lead to her identity, she was open about more important matters of philosophy and thought. I cannot express how much it meant to me to have a companion to share my evenings with.” He smiled in a way I’d never seen him smile before.

  “You weren’t just friends, were you?” I said softly.

  “No, Georgia, we were not just friends.”

  I realized he was tearing up and scrambled in my purse for a tissue to hand him. “What happened?”

  “We had over a month together, from just after Thanksgiving to the day before Christmas, but then I read in the paper that the owners of the house had resolved their issues with the town and were planning to demolish it right after the new year. We discussed the situation but made no definite plans. That night I came back to the house intending to ask Rose to allow me to make a permanent home for her. For both of us. But she was gone.”

  “She didn’t leave a note?”

  “Nothing. Her belongings were gone as well. There were no overt signs of violence, so I hoped that whomever it was she’d feared had not found her, but I couldn’t be sure. I was distraught, as you might imagine, but I had no way to find her. By her own desire, I knew almost nothing about her, and in all fairness, I had no claim on her. An obvious conclusion was that her attachment to me had not been as profound as mine to her.

  “Still, I stayed up all that night, hoping she would return.”

  “On Christmas Eve? Oh, Charles!”

  He shrugged it off. “I had no work because of the holidays, so for the next week, I never left the house. It was foolish of me, because of course she knew my cell phone number and could have called at any time, but I only abandoned my vigil on New Year’s Day because the house was scheduled for demolition the next day. That night, I gathered up my belongings and found a new place to squat. I never heard from Rose again.” He smiled sadly. “I know it sounds impossible in the era of frequent selfies, but I don’t even have a photo of her.”

  “I’m so sorry. Maybe the body…Maybe the person we found wasn’t Rose.”

  “As heartless as it sounds in regard to that poor person, I have been hoping that ever since I heard the news, and of course, that’s why I wanted to speak with you. But you may have confirmed my fears. You see, Rose didn’t have many items of clothing and refused my offers to purchase more for her. Most of the time, she wore a particular shirt. A dark red shirt.”

  “What about this?” I gave him a summary of the information Yo had given Louis about the body.

  “That, too, fits Rose,” he said sadly.

  There didn’t seem to be anything I could say to that other than to repeat, “I’m so sorry.”

  He wiped his eyes again. “Under the circumstances, I would like some advice. Do you think it would be better to call the officer in charge of the case directly or just to go to the station and present myself?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Obviously I need to tell the police what I know. Fortunately, I have no classes this afternoon, so I won’t need to find a substitute. If I’m held overnight, I’ll see about informing the administrators here and at McQuaid.”

  “Charles, you can’t go to the police!”

  “How can I not? It is the least I can do for Rose.”

  “So you’re going to tell them that you squatted in an abandoned building?”

  “Of course. Admittedly I broke the law, but I doubt they’ll prosecute under the circumstances. If they do arrest me, then at least that will temporarily resolve my housing problem.” He smiled wryly.

  “Charles, if you go down there, the police are going to think you killed Rose yourself.”

  “I realize that, but I can only hope that my lack of a motive will reassure them. I had no reason to kill Rose. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  “They won’t believe that. They’ll think she was going to leave you, or you wanted to take her money, or you made a pass and she turned you down. They’ll come up with all kinds of reasons.”

  “Since none of them are true, they won’t be able to find any evidence to that effect.”

  “That won’t stop them from digging into every corner of your life. Are you living on campus these days?”

  “I’ve got a cozy broom closet in the adjunct building at McQuaid.”

  “What do you think will happen when that comes out? It’s almost certainly going to cost you your job. Both your jobs.”

  He stroked his chin. “That had not occurred to me. Still, it must be done. If the police are to find Rose’s killer, they must have all the information available.”

  “What information can you give them? You said she never told you anything about herself. Do you know how old she was? Was she married? Was she from Pennycross or somewhere else? Who was she hiding from? Who had a reason to kill her? Telling them what books and movies she liked won’t help them solve her murder, and it could cost you your career.”

  “Georgia, I have to do something. I failed to protect Rose before. I can’t fail her now.”

  “You’re not going to. We’re going to search for her killer ourselves.”

  “We?” He raised one eyebrow.

  “Well, me, but with your help.” By we, I’d actually meant me and Sid, but I was willing to let Charles be on the team, too,
as long as I could keep him away from my real partner. “Look, you know I’ve been a…” I couldn’t say detective with a straight face, and sleuth sounded even worse. “You know I’ve been involved in murders before. I don’t see why I can’t get involved in this one on your behalf.”

  “Georgia, I could never ask you to do such a thing.”

  “You’re not asking. I’m offering. In fact, I’m telling. Charles, I want you to promise me that you won’t go to the police until I’ve done everything I can to find out what happened to Rose. If I can’t do it, you can always talk to the police then. It’s been ten years. Waiting a couple of weeks won’t make a difference.”

  “I suppose that’s reasonable. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.” Sid would, of course, be delighted.

  Chapter Eight

  “You told him what?” Sid said, his eye holes wide in defiance of both biology and geometry.

  I’d rushed up to the attic to tell him the news as soon as I left Charles at Bostock. “I told him that we’d investigate. Well, that I would, since Charles doesn’t know about you.”

  “Without consulting me? You didn’t think that maybe I’d have better ways to spend my time this close to Christmas, that maybe I’d had enough with death and danger and…” Then he burst out laughing. “Ha! I had you going there, didn’t I?”

  “Sid!” I thunked him on top of his skull.

  “Of course we’ll investigate. I’ve been ready to get started ever since we found the body.”

  “What about ‘oh I’ve got gaming and Christmas shopping to do’ every time I tried to discuss the case?”

  “Ha! You called it a case!”