Questionable Results

by R A Wallace

  “Arthur, if I may.” Delia was waiting for him outside of his classroom. She turned to walk with him. “I just have a few questions about the incident yesterday in the new state game preserve.”

  “That incident cost me some valuable sleep last night.” His attempt at humor didn’t last long. The faint smile on his lips disappeared as an unusual mien of disquiet settled back into the lines of his face.

  “I can imagine. You and George were asked by the state to examine the property?” she prompted.

  “It was a request we both looked forward to,” he said as he walked down the hall toward the exit. “A fine piece of land. There’s a great potential there. Of course, we extracted a promise of using the resources on occasion for field trips with our classes.”

  She’d wondered about that.

  “Some of the acreage will be fenced in for specific usage. That was partly what we are to determine.”

  “Partly?”

  “Yes.” He reached the door first and held it open for her to pass through. “Signage will need to be in place. Notices put up, that sort of thing. We were also to determine where those would be located.”

  Her confusion must have been obvious.

  “Fishing rules will be placed near the streams. Rules pertaining to other usage in specific areas also need to be posted,” he explained, sounding very much like the teacher that he was.

  “Oh yes, I see. But then you found Marcus Sidehill.”

  “Indeed.” His pace picked up as though walking faster could somehow leave the memories behind.

  “Who suggested that you check for life signs?”

  “To be honest, it’s all a bit of a blur at the moment. It was rather hectic at the time.” Arthur turned a corner quickly and headed in the direction of Glennon Hall. “I didn’t think the man stood a chance of being alive. I believe I suggested more than once that we go for help immediately.”

  Delia picked up her pace. “That idea wasn’t considered?”

  He waved a hand. “Everyone was talking at once. I’m not even certain they heard me.”

  “But over the confusion you heard someone suggest that the victim be checked?”

  His steps slowed. “Yes. Yes, that’s right.”

  “Who?”

  Arthur stopped at the steps to the entrance. “I believe it was Alexander.”

  “You’re certain?” Delia’s eyes shifted to the doorway in front of her. Mena was just passing through on her way into lunch.

  “Yes.” His voice was calmer now. More assured. “Yes, I’m certain.”

  Chapter Seven

  Delia slipped into her seat next to Mena. The others in their group were already present. Delia scanned their faces as her mind considered the potential ramifications of Alexander Boardman’s actions. It was Mena she worried about most. The scholarly librarian had fast become a dear friend. In her actions to discover answers for the normal school principal, Delia could possibly compromise that new friendship. Once again, Alexander Boardman’s behavior was being put to question. Once again, it was Delia who turned the microscope upon him.

  Looking around the table, she realized that all of her lunch companions were a little subdued. She didn’t have to wonder why. The morning paper was filled with news of the suffrage amendment results. She studied each of them in turn.

  Faye King, the stenography teacher, was pleating her linen napkin in her fingers. As was her habit, and that of many other female teachers at the normal school, she was wearing a serviceable skirt and waist. Today’s skirt was a blue plaid topped with a white waist. Both were of sturdy fabrics that would withstand daily wearing without suffering the damage incurred by chiffon or other high maintenance fabrics. In her late twenties, Faye was closer to Mabelle Neff in age and the two of them were often seen together. Both were single and lived in town.

  Mabelle was more vocal about her feelings on the subject of women’s suffrage but her emotions were still running high. It was sometimes difficult to follow her comments of despair. They came out in disjointed sentences that were often cut off midstream. The domestic science teacher had been certain the amendment would pass this time.

  “I just don’t understand how it happened,” Mabelle said, not for the first time.

  Harriet Beard slanted a commiserating smile in Mabelle’s direction. The bookkeeping teacher had remained neutral in her belief that the amendment would pass. Like Faye, Harriet had pointed out several times that, even if it did pass, it would still require ratification by numerous states before women could vote.

  “President Wilson implored the senate to vote for it,” Mabelle added.

  “Perhaps it will be successful the next time,” Mena said consolingly. It didn’t help.

  “Three votes.” Mabelle’s voice was tinged with despair. “It failed by only three votes.”

  “Perhaps we should focus on the other news,” Harriet suggested.

  “I doubt that will lift anyone’s spirits,” Faye said. “Did you see the list of names?”

  “Those whose numbers were called first,” Mena said. “So very many of them. And to know that just as many were called from towns all over the country.”

  “And will continue to be called,” Harriet pointed out. “There are still thousands of numbers.”

  Delia watched Blanche Noble. Though the school nurse was following the conversation, she wasn’t participating. She still felt guilty for the treatment the woman often received by the small lunch group. Whenever Blanche brought up the seriousness of the influenza, the others shouted her down.

  Delia wondered how to draw Blanche into the conversation. “Perhaps the influenza will impact their training?”

  Blanche shifted her eyes to Delia and opened her mouth.

  “I cannot see how. If they are calling the numbers, it means the men must go to war.” Mabelle leaned back as a server went by filling water glasses.

  “We got our reporting card in the mail,” Harriet said. “For the canning quota to write down how many quarts we have put up at home.”

  Delia was reminded of Hazel’s last-minute frenzy for canning and felt a fresh pang of guilt for not doing her part. Her eyes went to Blanche. The nurse gave a return smile of understanding.

  “Every woman must do her part,” Mabelle said as she reached for her water glass.

  “It can be difficult for some to keep up,” Blanche said quietly.

  “Sacrifices must be made in times of war.” Mabelle sounded as though she was reading from one of the many posters displayed in town. “Preserving food at home frees up canned goods for those fighting in the war.”

  “Speaking of sacrifices,” Faye murmured under her breath as her midday meal was placed in front of her.

  Mena reached for her napkin. “Macaroni with green pea sauce.”

  Delia caught a slight hint of mint and thought of Arch. She was certain the herb was grown in one of the many gardens on campus.

  “Very economical,” Mabelle said approvingly. “Especially with the substitutions that Hazel made.”

  “I doubt she used much sugar in it,” Harriet guessed. “Not with the rationing.”

  “Or butter,” Faye added.

  “Oleo margarine is just as good for a roux,” Mabelle said. “The peas were plentiful this year. Her substitution of canned milk diluted with water for the cream hardly changes the taste at all.”

  Delia smiled her thanks as the server set her food in front of her. The peas were mixed into the sauce made of substitutions. A hint of mint was added along with cheese croutons. Hazel’s creativity in the kitchen knew no bounds.

  The rest of the meal passed with discussion of classes and speculation on the prospects for the suffrage amendment passing some future vote. Delia filed out of the dining hall at the end of it by Mena’s side.

  “Do you have a few minutes before you return to your desk?” Delia asked.

  Mena’s eyes shifted to Delia as they walked to the faculty lounge to gather their jackets. “Why do I get th
e feeling this is bad news?”

  Delia didn’t try to hide it in her face.

  “Oh.” Mena slid her arms into the jacket sleeves. “Walk with me?”

  Delia followed Mena out of the building and waited until they were clear of the others before speaking. “There’s been an incident.”

  “Incident?” Mena’s brows pulled together. “What kind of incident.”

  “Well, perhaps that was a poor choice of word,” Delia murmured, mostly to herself. “A man lost his life.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Mena’s eyes widened behind her spectacles and her head swiveled toward Delia. “He was murdered?”

  “I am afraid so, yes.”

  Mena clasped her hands to her middle. “It wasn’t in the paper this morning.”

  “I do not believe Judson had released any information in time for the printing,” Delia said. “I am certain you will see it in the next issue.”

  “Do I know him?”

  It was a good question. “Marcus Sidehill.”

  Mena’s face began to morph into relief but quickly switched to mortification. “I should not feel better that the name is not familiar.”

  “He isn’t from around here?” Delia guessed.

  “He may be. I do not know everyone in town.” Mena’s steps slowed. “Does he have ties to the school?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Delia hedged. She immediately felt guilty for doing so. “Do you remember when Alexander stopped yesterday to say that he was meeting with some of the faculty here?”

  “He said it was about the new game preserve.” Mena stopped walking. “The man was murdered at the game preserve?”

  “Alexander was among the group that found him,” Delia said.

  “That doesn’t sound bad.” Mena looked relieved but it didn’t last long as she stared at Delia. “There is more?”

  “There is some question about the events surrounding that moment in time,” Delia said slowly.

  “Events?”

  “Decisions that were made.”

  “Decisions.” This time, Mena wasn’t asking a question. “You’re referring to Alexander.”

  “It looks that way, yes. The principal has some concerns about the involvement of Alexander and two of our colleagues.”

  “George and Arthur.” Mena spoke in a monotone.

  “Yes. As you might imagine, coming upon a victim in the woods was rather alarming for them. There was purportedly some great deal of confusion as to what to do. The men decided to check the victim for life signs.”

  “That doesn’t sound bad.” Mena’s brows pulled together. “How is that bad?”

  “In the process, they managed to destroy any evidence that Judson and his men may have secured.”

  Mena’s eyes closed for just a moment. “Tell me the rest.”

  “George and Arthur are fairly certain it was Alexander’s idea to approach the victim and check for life signs. They were fairly certain upon initial observation that the man was beyond hope,” Delia said gently. “Alexander volunteered to check Marcus Sidehill’s lifeless body.”

  “You think…” Mena’s voice had a catch. She cleared her throat and tried again. “You believe Alexander had some particular reason for doing so?”

  “That is what the principal has asked me to discover,” Delia said.

  Mena nodded once. “You are asking for my permission.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes. I am sorry.”

  Mena held up one hand. “With this, I agree with the principal. I, too, should like to know.”

  “Then I shall waste no time,” Delia said.

  “You plan to speak to him now?” Mena waited for Delia’s nod. “I would wish to know what you learn.”

  Delia saw the determination in Mena’s eyes and wondered at its source. Would the knowledge cause Mena to walk away from her arborist? Or give her the necessary information to fabricate an acceptable excuse for the man’s behavior. One she could live with for the rest of her life as his wife.

  “You’re certain of this?” Delia asked.

  Mena hesitated for just a moment. “Have you spoken to Judson?”

  Delia wondered when Mena began to use his first name. “Not yet. The principal is the one who asked me to look into it.”

  “A murder?”

  Delia tipped her head to one side briefly. “Not technically.”

  “Technically?”

  “Okay, he specifically asked me not to look into that,” Delia admitted.

  “He’s worried about the school,” Mena murmured.

  “Exactly. He also has questions about why the evidence was so completely destroyed,” Delia said mostly to herself. “I confess, I wonder the same thing.”

  “Not everyone is accustomed to facing death,” Mena said quietly.

  Delia’s eyes shifted to Mena’s. “I should be going. I need to interview Alexander and get back here for my afternoon classes.”

  “Have you had a chance to speak with Blanche?” Mena asked.

  Delia shook her head as she began walking backwards away from Mena.

  “I have meetings this afternoon. If I see her in any of them, I’ll try to touch base.” Mena remained where she was. “You will be safe?”

  “Always.” Delia turned and picked up her pace as she walked toward the trolley stop in the front of Glennon Hall.

  Chapter Eight

  Delia approached the boarding house where Alexander was staying and tapped on the door. The landlady offered no smile of greeting. It was obvious by her apron and the smells that wafted out with her that she was in the middle of something. Delia wondered if it involved canning produce to increase the number of quarts she could list on her reporting card. She knew that for many women, it was a matter of bragging rights.

  “You again.” The frown on the landlady’s face made it obvious that she didn’t want women near her boarding house. “What is the normal school coming to when its teachers go around chasing men?”

  “I was sent by the school principal to speak with Mr. Boardman about a school matter.” Delia told herself it was mostly true.

  It earned her a grunt of acknowledgement from the landlady. Delia was led to a sitting room in the front of the house. She heard the landlady’s loud footsteps go up each stair. A moment later, the sounds were heard again coming down but there were more of them now.

  Alexander appeared a moment later. He was buttoning his shirt sleeves. “Miss Markham. Is something the matter?”

  “I am here about the incident at the new game preserve yesterday.” Delia motioned toward a chair in front of her.

  Alexander lowered himself into it. “What about it?”

  She lifted her brows. “Have you come across murder victims so often that you don’t find it unusual?”

  “Well, no.” He appeared mildly confused. “But I do not follow your interest.”

  “Given the members of your party, the school is very interested,” Delia said smoothly.

  “Ah, yes.” Confusion was replaced by his typical smile. “George and Arthur. Fine men. The state was wise to ask for their assistance with this new game preserve. There’s a labor shortage, as you may know.”

  She wondered at his comment. Did he think she was unaware of the war? “You stepped in to fill the need.”

  “Of course. It’s both my duty and my honor.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward a bit as though sharing a secret. “I’m not certain I would have cared to have anyone else do it.”

  She lifted her brows to prompt him. “Oh?”

  “Part of the duties are to post notices. Most men would hang them on trees, you know. Living trees.” His emphasis made it clear he didn’t agree with the practice. “I won’t have it.”

  She made a noise of understanding.

  It was all the prodding he needed to continue with enthusiasm. “Small game begins in less than three weeks. It will take quite a bit of time to get all of the work done. That’s why we wanted to get a start on it yester
day.”

  “You were surveying the land?” she prompted.

  “Yes. We needed to ascertain which resources were located in specific areas, as well as make recommendations on stocking.”

  “Stocking?”

  “Trout in the streams during spring. Pheasant in the fields.” He offered another smile. “Things in which I doubt you have much interest.”

  “Given the shortages of food and the difficulties feeding families, I believe you will find that many women are interested in such topics,” she said.

  “I did not mean to imply otherwise.” He shifted in his seat. “It typically falls on the woman to render any harvest into something worthy of serving her husband and children.”

  She opted to change the subject. “What happened when you found Marcus Sidehill?”

  He gave a half shrug. “Not much. An unfortunate incident that interrupted our work temporarily but we will return to it.”

  “I was more curious about that moment in time, Mr. Boardman. Whose idea was it to check the victim for life signs?”

  “Mine, of course.” He waved a hand. “After that last misunderstanding, I didn’t want to take any chances this time.”

  “Misunderstanding?” She lifted her brows again. “When you and Mena were implicated in murder?”

  “Exactly.” He flashed a confident smile.

  She had to be certain. “So you made the suggestion to check for vital signs?”

  A small frown appeared between his brows. “I don’t know that I was the one initially to suggest it, no. It may have been George. However, I volunteered once it was decided.”

  She wondered at the loss of their sensibilities. George wasn’t certain which man it was. He initially named Arthur, then Alexander. Arthur remembered Alexander suggesting it. Now Alexander was pointing a finger at George. “You walked around the victim?”

  “Yes, of course. I wanted to check for signs of struggle.”

  “You didn’t trust the police to handle that?”

  His frown was deeper now. “Not after the last time. I wanted there to be no mistake that I wasn’t to blame.”