Murder Is Collegiate

by Diane Weiner

  Coralee returned from the kitchen with mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies.

  “Mrs. Fox, start at the beginning. Tell me everything that happened today.”

  “I… I taught my class this morning. Afterward, Martha, my colleague, asked if she could show me a paper she was working on for publication. We went into my office. Spent quite a bit of time discussing her paper.”

  “Martha was a teacher?” asked Detective Wooster.

  “Yes, an assistant professor in English. She taught creative writing too––and she co-ordinated the the basic English comp course.”

  “Go on. Did you see or hear anyone enter the building?”

  “No, we were wrapped up in our work. I had to use the restroom. Martha was sitting in my chair; I’d been reclining on the sofa under the window. My back aches if I sit in that chair too long.”

  “You went out for how long? Five minutes maybe?”

  “More like ten. I heard someone in the hall, but by the time I came out, no one was there. I went back to my office and saw blood on the floor. I felt my heart beating like a metronome set for a Sousa march. Then I saw the wound on Martha’s head. I screamed, then took a few deep breaths to get my head on straight and felt for a pulse.”

  The front door slammed shut, and Coralee yelled to a young man about to climb the stairway. “Noah, come here. I was getting worried. You were supposed to be home hours ago. I left your dinner warming in the oven.”

  The young man, mid-twenties, was dressed in black from his boots to his parka. He wore heavy gloves and a ski cap.

  “Susan, Mike, Detective, this is my son Noah.”

  “How do you do.” Noah took off his glove to shake their hands. That’s when Susan noticed his bruised fingers and spatters of blood on the back of his hand. “I’m going upstairs to shower before dinner.”

  Come on, Susan said to herself. Blood? Bruises? Maybe he’d been painting. Or maybe I’m imagining things. I’m awfully tired.

  Noah left, and Detective Wooster resumed his questioning.

  “Mrs. Fox, were you able to detect a pulse?”

  “I couldn’t tell. I heard a noise. I was afraid the intruder was still in the building, so I grabbed my keys from the top of my desk and ran out to the parking lot. I realized I’d left my purse and couldn’t call 911, so I sped along, trying to get some help.”

  “You were speeding. Is that how you wound up in the lake?”

  “Oh, no. It wasn’t because I was speeding. I was being followed. I saw headlights in the rearview mirror. Then I felt the truck crash into me. He didn’t stop pushing my car until it landed in the lake.” Henry squeezed her hand. “The front of my car was sinking fast. I knew I couldn’t open the door until the pressure equalized. I remembered the tool I’d bought after seeing a segment on The Doctor Oz Show. I used it to smash the glass, and I swam out.”

  “That’s my wife. Levelheaded and smart under the worst possible pressure. Thank God you made it out.” He squeezed her hand again.

  Susan noticed Emily was still shivering. “Coralee, do you maybe have a pair of sweats or something dry for Emily to change into?”

  “Sure, I should have thought of that earlier.” The bell at the front desk rang just as she got up to find clothes.

  Susan said, “Go to your guest. I’ll get it.”

  “My room’s at the top of the stairs. Bottom dresser drawer.”

  Susan climbed the steps, wincing at the creaking sound her knees sometimes made these days. She pushed open the door at the top of the steps and walked into a pale blue room with a four-poster bed. She heard the shower running. This must be the wrong room. It must be her son’s. She noticed a bulging knapsack on the bed with one wet strap. Is that water, or is it blood? Come on, Susan. Everything isn’t a mystery to solve. You came here to visit your friends.

  Just then the water stopped running, and Susan darted across the hall where she found Coralee’s room, retrieved the dry sweats, and went back to her friends.

  “Coralee, how old is your son?” asked Susan.

  “He’s twenty-six. He takes classes at St. Edwards and helps me out here at the inn. In the winter, he makes extra money giving cross-country ski lessons to the guests.”

  Emily changed into the dry clothes, and the detective resumed his questioning.

  “Mrs. Fox, did the assailant see you?”

  “I don’t know. He obviously followed me to my car and ran me into the lake. I suppose he was worried I’d seen him.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “No. I scrambled out of the building after I saw what had happened. I can’t even tell you what kind of truck he was driving. I was so upset after seeing Martha.” Emily wiped tears with the sleeve of the sweatshirt.

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Fox. I’ll try to wrap this up so you can go home and get some rest. Do you have any idea who may have wanted either you or Martha Peterson dead?”

  “Wanted us dead? No, of course not.”

  Detective Wooster handed her a card. “We’ll talk again soon. I’ll have a patrol car outside your house tonight. Just in case.”

  The detective left. Emily said, “What does he mean by just in case? Am I in danger?”

  Henry put his arm around her. “It’s better to be safe than sorry. I’m sure the killer will get as far away from here as possible. He’s probably across the Canadian border by now.”

  Chapter 3

  Susan slept soundly, curled under a quilt next to Mike in Emily and Henry’s guest room. The white wrought iron bed matched the nightstands on either side. Mike was lying awake, staring at the ceiling.

  “Mike, are you okay? Did you sleep well?”

  “Yeah. I’m just trying to figure out who would want to hurt Emily. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. And even if she did, they haven’t been living here long. I doubt she’s had time to make enemies.”

  “There’s still the possibility that the killer was after Martha Peterson.”

  “But he ran Emily’s car into the lake. Either he realized he’d missed his target…”

  “Or he was afraid Emily could identify him.”

  Henry knocked on the door. “Breakfast is ready. I’m sure you must be hungry after last night’s excitement.”

  Susan pulled on a flannel robe. She and Mike followed Henry into the kitchen.

  “Ah, coffee. It smells hot and strong. Just what I need.”

  Mike said, “And are these cinnamon buns?” He reached for one, and Susan grabbed his wrist.

  “Just one. No more heart attacks for you. Remember what happened when you let up on your diet the last time we traveled.”

  “You mean in Atlanta? It was just indigestion. No harm, no foul.”

  Henry pulled a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. “Fried or scrambled?”

  “We’ll take scrambled. Do you have any of that nonstick spray?” Mike rolled his eyes at his wife.

  Emily, yawning, came into the kitchen. “Henry, are you taking care of our guests?”

  “I was just about to start some eggs. Grab some coffee and sit down.”

  Susan and Mike joined Emily at the farm-style table with the tiled top. A long bench provided seating against the kitchen wall while wooden chairs faced across the other side of the table. A rooster-shaped kitchen clock over the table read eight o’clock.

  Susan poured creamer into her mug of coffee. “Emily, were you able to get any sleep?”

  “Hardly. The image of Martha slumped over in my chair, me screaming, the blood on the floor…”

  Susan hugged her. “I know. It will haunt you for a while. At least you’re safe. I’m surprised no one else on the floor came out when they heard you scream.”

  “Normally someone would have. The new college president was inaugurated yesterday afternoon. It was a huge deal. Classes were canceled, and virtually all faculty and staff were in attendance. I wanted to come home and get ready for your visit instead. As I was leaving, Martha came into my office. She wanted
my opinion on a paper she was working on.”

  “You didn’t hear anyone in the hall?”

  “No. I went to the ladies’ room, and when I came back… You know the rest.”

  Henry set a bowl of eggs on the table. “Dig in. I was thinking after breakfast we can take a tour around the community. Ever been snowshoeing?”

  “No,” said Mike. “Sounds like fun.”

  Emily poured orange juice. “That does sound like fun, but there’s a bit of a learning curve. How about we take the Jeep now and do some snowshoeing this afternoon? I need to put away some notes for my book, but it can wait. I was thinking we could eat dinner at Coralee’s tonight.”

  “What’s your book about?” asked Susan.

  “It’s a true crime story. This summer marks the ten-year anniversary of the mysterious disappearance of a St. Edwards student, Ashley Young. She was last seen on campus but seemed to vanish into thin air. She was supposed to eat dinner at her parents’ house that evening, but she never showed up. Her car was gone from the student parking lot.”

  “They never found a body?”

  “No. Or the car. Word was she took off after breaking up with her abusive boyfriend. Her parents said she’d never leave town without telling them. Besides, she hadn’t packed any clothes, and her boxes of contact lenses were still in her bathroom.”

  “What did the police say?”

  “They found no evidence of foul play. There were no witnesses, no body. Ashley was legally an adult. After a while, they stopped looking. Wrote it off as a voluntary disappearance.”

  Henry said, “Enough talk about crime. Let’s take a tour.”

  After showering and getting dressed, they all hopped into the Jeep.

  The sky was ocean blue, and the sun sparkled on the snow. Rolling her window halfway down, Susan took a deep breath and savored the clean, crisp air.

  Henry pulled onto the gravel road. “The community is one big circle around the lake. St. Edwards College is off to the right, about a ten-minute drive if the road is clear. We’ll go clockwise.” Henry continued driving. “That’s Kurt Olav’s house on the left. You met him the other day. He moved here from Minnesota a dozen years ago.”

  “Did his family come up with him?” asked Susan.

  “He doesn’t ever mention a family. He’s very tight-lipped, doesn’t share a bunch of personal stuff. I figure it’s a Minnesota thing.” Henry kept driving.

  He drove past an abandoned cabin in need of paint. “The owners haven’t been up here in years. That’s what Coralee tells us. I remember the family who lived there when we spent our summers here growing up. Cabin bustled what with three kids living there. What a shame it’s sitting empty.”

  Susan peeked through the window. “If they ever want to sell, let us know. Mike and I can use a retirement home.”

  “Sure,” said Mike. “Like you’d be willing to move hours away from Annalise, not to mention our daughter and her husband.”

  “You know my pressure points too well. I could never leave my precious granddaughter.” Just picturing Annalise brought a smile to Susan’s face. “And now that Jason and Lynette are going to adopt a baby from China, you’re right. I couldn’t move away from Westbrook.”

  Emily turned to Susan. “They’re adopting a baby? You didn’t tell me that. How wonderful. There’ll be–– What?––A three-year span or so between the baby and Annalise? That’s perfect.”

  “I can’t wait,” said Susan. “Being a grandparent is the best thing in the world. That’s a cute cabin.” The small wooden cabin had two rocking chairs on the porch outside the front door. Susan could see bright, gingham curtains hanging from the front window.

  Emily turned back to Susan. “Another St. Edwards professor, Morgan Reynolds, in the math department, and her husband live there. She barely speaks to me. Her husband, Gerald, had my job until he was fired last year. I replaced him, which doesn’t sit well with Morgan even though I had nothing to do with him losing his job. Gerald is in his late fifties. Had a few more years until retirement. Morgan’s quite a bit younger. Rumor is she was his student at his previous job and was let go when they started dating.”

  “Why did they fire him from St. Edwards?” asked Susan.

  “He started acting strange. He blew up at his students randomly for no reason. He missed classes pretty regularly too.”

  A Jetta passed them, pulling into the opposite lane in order to do so. Henry explained it was the only way to do it on a two-lane road.

  “Most of the time no one is in much of a hurry around here,” said Henry. “Those two are the exception. Young couple, Kiki and Buzz. When Kiki’s mom died, they inherited her place. Want no part of living here. They’re what we refer to as city folks.”

  Emily gave Henry a playful swat. “City folks? Since when did you start talking like you grew up in Alabama rather than Hartford, Connecticut?”

  “I’m turning into a regular country bumpkin I guess. Anyhow,” Henry continued, “they had jobs in one of those newfangled millennial companies in Manhattan. You know, the kind with nap chairs and treadmill desks.”

  Mike said, “So what on earth are they doing to make a living in Sugarbury Falls?”

  “The company lets them telecommute. Can you imagine? And they’re complaining because they want to go back and live in the city. They live next door to us.”

  “Not exactly neighborly either,” said Emily. “There’s a company that builds tiny houses––Peewee Miniatures. It’s the latest fad, tiny affordable homes. And I do mean tiny. Some are even portable. Imagine dragging your house behind you on a trailer. A step up from the old RVs.”

  “If they’re portable, why do they need your land?”

  “Not all are portable. Peewee envisions a whole tiny community! The owner wants to include a tiny general store and a tiny post office—even a tiny barbershop/hair salon. Idiotic if you ask me.”

  “Don’t you already have those things here?” asked Susan.

  “Yes, but it’s a bit of a ride, especially when the roads are bad. This community would have everything within walking distance. He’s even planning tiny bungalow rentals, which would threaten Coralee’s place.”

  “A newfangled type of vacation. Like staying in one of those ice hotels or something.”

  “Would make for some cool pictures to post on Facebook,” said Henry. “Right, Susan? Wouldn’t you hit Like if you saw that status?” Henry’s tone was full of his famous sarcasm.

  Emily continued. “They want to buy up both places––theirs and ours––so they can build on the land. We’re not willing to sell, but Kiki and Buzz are dying to. They hate us for keeping them up here in paradise when they could be fighting pollution and traffic back in the city.”

  “Got to be the most spoiled generation ever,” said Mike.

  Susan shielded her eyes from the glare bouncing off the snow. “Isn’t that the inn we were at last night?”

  “Yes, it is. We’ll come back for dinner tonight if that’s okay with you both.”

  “Of course it is,” Susan added. “After a day of learning to snowshoe, we’ll be ready for a relaxing dinner. I heard snowshoeing burns tons of calories.”

  Emily said, “At least enough to negate a piece of Coralee’s apple strudel.”

  Chapter 4

  Several inches of fresh snow blanketed Emily and Henry’s yard. Henry gathered up snowshoes for all four of them, having borrowed two pair from Coralee’s inn. Coralee offered complimentary recreational equipment to her guests and had plenty of extras that she happily lent to residents when they entertained guests.

  “That snow last night gives us something to work with,” said Henry. He helped Susan and Mike strap on the snowshoes. “Go slowly. It’s a little tricky at first.”

  “No problem,” said Susan. She struggled to keep her balance. Mike took to them easily. Suspicious, she asked, “Are you sure you never did this before?”

  “Not in this lifetime,” said Mike.

 
; A weathered barn was between the Fox cabin and Kurt Olav’s place. Susan felt as if she could have crawled to it faster than she was snowshoeing toward it. The wind blew snow over her boots as she plodded along out of breath.

  “Henry, don’t you think you should take a look at the barn door while we’re out here?” said Emily. “Remember, Kurt said it was open the other day.”

  Henry led the group to the barn and put his gloved hand over the door. “It’s closed as securely as ever. Maybe Kurt just thought it was open.”

  “Kurt has quite the eyes for details. I doubt he was wrong,” said Emily.

  Henry took off his glove and tugged at the door. Then he opened it and examined the latch. “Nothing broken here.”

  “What do you use the barn for?” asked Susan. “Do you plan on getting animals?”

  “As much as I love horses, Henry is right. They are too much work. I haven’t been in the barn since we moved here. Maybe someday I’ll turn it into a writing studio.”

  “Or a woodworking shop,” added Henry.

  Turning around was harder than it looked. Susan toppled over into the snow. While she was on the ground, she saw something shiny in the snow. Brushing it off with her glove, she picked up a gold button. Henry bent down to help her up.

  “What’ve you got there?”

  “It’s a button. Looks like it came off a coat. Is it yours?”

  “Not mine. Both Emily and I favor zippered parkas. I don’t recognize it.”

  They continued, progressing slowly toward the lake. Susan whipped around when she heard the sound of a snowmobile. A young couple on an old-fashioned two-seater whizzed past, then turned around and parked in front of them. The woman had long dark hair that tumbled out of her knit cap. The young man wore a heavy-duty leather jacket. Henry introduced them.

  “Susan and Mike, these are our neighbors, Kiki and Buzz Montaldo. Kiki and Buzz, these are our dear friends from back in Westbrook.”

  “Kiki and Buzz also used to live in New York. They worked in Manhattan.” Emily winked at Susan as if to remind her about the discussion they’d had previously regarding millennials.