by Crider, Bill
“Not to mention the staff members who had to deal with him,“ Tomlin added.
“And most of the faculty members who were here then,“ Fox said. “And then there’s me, of course. I had plenty of trouble with him.“
“And just think about everybody he’s screwed in his insurance business,“ Tomlin said. He tossed his cigarette to the floor and lit another one. “There must be plenty of those.“
Burns looked around the boiler room. The boiler itself was huge. It looked a little like some kind of alien spaceship that had been trapped in a brick barn. It was wrapped in some kind of material that Burns strongly suspected had a large asbestos component.
“I wonder who found the body,“ he said.
“I haven’t heard,“ Tomlin said. “You, Earl?“
Fox shook his head. “Could have been his wife. He was at home when they found him. Why do you want to know, Carl? You aren’t involved in this, I hope.“
“I’m not involved,“ Burns said.
“That’s good,“ Tomlin said. “Because we don’t want you to be distracted, do we Earl?“
“No,“ Earl said. “We need you at your best for the big game.“
The ball game again. Burns didn’t want to talk about it.
Tomlin did. “There’s going to be a pretty good crowd. I think we can win, don’t you?“
Burns didn’t think so, not with him on the team. He didn’t know how he’d ever gotten himself into this mess in the first place. It had started out innocently enough, just a suggestion that there be some sort of faculty baseball team, and Burns had never expected anything to come of it. But something had, and now he was going to be playing second base.
It could have been worse, however. The original idea had been baseball, but even Mal Tomlin, who was athletically inclined, had seen that real baseball took a lot more skill than nearly anyone on the faculty, except possibly some of the coaches and maybe Mal himself, could muster. So they had settled on softball, slow-pitch softball.
Even slow-pitch softball, however, required quite a bit of eye/hand coordination and stamina, both of which Burns had in very short supply.
“You haven’t looked too sharp in the workouts,“ Tomlin said to Burns. “I thought you said you’d played before.“
“It’s been a long time,“ Burns said.
It had been since Burns played his one season of Little League ball, in fact, but he didn’t see the need of mentioning that minor point. Maybe if he’d said something earlier, it would have been all right, but now it was too late. Macho guys like ballplayers, even slow-pitch softball players, didn’t back down from a challenge.
“It would be pretty embarrassing if the student team beat the faculty team,“ Fox said. “It might give them the idea that they’re somehow superior to us.“
“They are superior to us,“ Burns pointed out. “They’re younger, faster, and in a lot better shape.“
“Speak for yourself,“ Tomlin said. “Personally, I’m in great shape.“
He breathed out a great cloud of white smoke and then began to cough violently. Burns, thinking Tomlin might strangle, got up and started to pound him on the back.
Tomlin began to yell and cough at the same time, not an easy trick. The yelling was incomprehensible, but Burns got the idea that Tomlin wanted him to stop hitting him. So he stopped.
“Jesus Christ,“ Tomlin gasped when he’d gotten his breath back. “You didn’t have to do that. I was fine. Just a little tickle in my throat.“
His face was red as a Martian sunset, and he was making wet wheezing noises after every third word.
“I can see that you’re fine,“ Burns said. “You could probably go out and run five miles right now.“
“I could. Faster than you could, that’s for sure.“
Burns didn’t doubt that. Speed wasn’t one of Burns’s natural attributes. Even if Tomlin had to crawl, he’d be faster than Burns was.
“I don’t know,“ Fox said. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and contemplated it. “Maybe we’d better slow down on these things until after the game.“
“They are supposed to cut your wind,“ Tomlin admitted.
“Not to mention cause heart failure, cancer, and a few other assorted problems,“ Burns added.
“I can read the Surgeon General’s warning,“ Tomlin said. “I went to graduate school, you know.“
“Sorry,“ Burns said.
“Is Elaine coming to the game?“ Fox asked, changing the subject.
“I’m afraid so,“ Burns said.
Humiliation was bad enough, but being humiliated in front of Elaine was going to be even worse.
“I guess she’ll be cheering you on,“ Fox said.
“Either that, or she can give him a ride to the hospital after he pulls a hernia trying to turn a double play,“ Tomlin said.
Burns didn’t laugh. The possibility was too real and too frightening to be funny.
Chapter Seven
On his way back to his office, Burns went by for a visit with Elaine Tanner. He tried to get by to see her at least once a day, and sometimes more often than that. He entered the library through the E. R. Memorial doors, went past the check-out desk with a nod to the circulation librarian, and walked to the back of the building.
Elaine was in, but she was no longer surrounded with the many trophies that had formerly filled the room. She told Burns that she’d decided they were no longer necessary to her self-esteem.
It wasn’t as if she had actually earned the trophies herself, after all. She had bought them at the same places that Earl Fox bought his clothes: garage sales. At some feel-good seminar or other, she’d heard that trophies and awards could make a person feel better about herself, no matter where the trophies came from. So she’d surrounded herself with awards for baton twirling, cake baking, good citizenship—even calf roping. The office looked a little bare without them.
But as far as Burns was concerned, Elaine was decoration enough. She had red hair, a low voice, and big round glasses that gave her a scholarly air.
“Well, well,“ she said. “If it isn’t Jeff Kent.“
Burns hadn’t kept up with baseball since his card-collecting days, and that had been when he was in grade school. But he did know that Jeff Kent was the second baseman for the Houston Astros. He also knew that Jeff Bagwell was the first baseman for the same team. After that, he was pretty much at a loss.
“R. M. came by to see me this morning,“ Elaine went on. “He’s lost a little weight, and he looks very trim.“
Burns didn’t like to hear that Napier had been by to see Elaine. He didn’t like it that she referred to him as R. M. He didn’t like it that she’d noticed Napier’s weight loss.
He realized that he was being foolish, that he was feeling like a kid in junior high, that he was being possessive. He also realized that although those things were very bad, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t help himself.
“And what did R. M. want?“ he asked.
Elaine brushed back a stray lock of red hair. “Oh, nothing much. Just to say hello. He said something about dropping by to see you, too. Did he?“
“He certainly did,“ Burns said.
“I take it that he has some kind of problem.“
“You take it right. Someone’s been killed.“
Elaine was shocked. “He didn’t mention that to me. Is it someone we know?“
“Matthew Hart,“ Burns said. “He taught here a good many years ago, early nineties, before you came. He was in Earl’s department.“
“Was it an accident?“
“It was a lot worse than that.“
“Oh.“
“It was murder,“ Burns said. “But I’m not getting involved.“
“I’m sure you’re not. You never do.“
Now even Elaine was being sarcastic. That wasn’t a good sign.
“No, really,“ Burns said. “I mean it. Napier warned me off. It’s none of my business.“
“Has that ever stop
ped you before?“
She had a point, but Burns said, “This time will be different.“
“We’ll see about that, won’t we?“
“We will indeed. But I didn’t come by to discuss things I’m not going to get involved in. I wanted to ask you about the ball game. Are you going to be there?“
Elaine smiled, dazzling Burns’s eyes. “I wouldn’t miss it.“
“I was afraid you’d say that.“
“What?“
“I said, ’I’m glad you said that.’“
“It didn’t sound that way to me.“
“Well, that’s what it was. I’m looking forward to getting out there and slapping the old pill around.“
“The old pill?“
“That’s what we pros call the ball. The old pill.“
“Oh.“
“It might rain,“ Burns said, having just thought of the possibility. “In that case, the game will be canceled.“
“You sound as if that might not be a bad idea.“
It wouldn’t, at that. The more Burns thought about it, the better he liked it. Not only would he be spared almost certain humiliation, he might even be spared a double hernia. Or was that a single hernia on a double play? Not that it mattered. Neither alternative appealed to him in the least.
“I wouldn’t want it to rain,“ Burns lied. “I think it’s going to be a great game.“
“I hope so. I hear that Dawn Melling is going to be the pitcher for the faculty.“
Dawn was one of the school’s counselors, and her appearance reminded Burns of Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. Not that that was a bad thing.
“Hard to believe, isn’t it?“ he said.
“Because she’s a woman?“
“Nope,“ Burns said. “We have several women on the team. Dorinda Edgely is our third baseman.“
And a lot better ballplayer than I am, for that matter, he thought.
“It’s just that I wouldn’t want you to be engaging in sexist thinking.“ Elaine said. “I know you’re trying to improve, but you slip up every now and then.“
“I know. But at least I’m trying. You have to give me credit for that.“
“You do very well most of the time. And I’ll bet Dawn pitches a great game.“
“I’m sure she will,“ Burns said. “Well, I’d better get over to the office. I might actually have a student drop by with a question.“
“It was nice to see you,“ Elaine said, which made Burns feel slightly giddy.
He felt giddy all the way back to Old Main, and even during the stair climb, but all that changed as soon as he got back to his office. Bunni was working at the computer terminal with stern concentration, but she looked up when he entered.
“Hi, Dr. Burns,“ she said, reaching for a piece of paper that was lying near the mouse pad. “Dr. Partridge asked me to give you this.“
“What is it?“ Burns asked.
“It’s a list,“ Bunni said. “The names of the people who were at her party.“
“Oh,“ Burns said, feeling the bottom drop out of his stomach. “What a nice surprise.“
Chapter Eight
“Are you OK, Dr. Burns?“ Bunni asked. “You look a little pale.“
Burns took the sheet of paper from her and sat behind his desk.
“I’m fine, thanks, Bunni. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting to get this list today.“ Or ever, for that matter. “When did Dr. Partridge give it to you?“
Bunni turned back to the monitor. “Just a few minutes ago. She called and asked if you were in, and when I said that you weren’t, she asked if I could come pick up something for you.“
“A few minutes ago?“
That would mean that Partridge had called long after having talked to Napier, who would have told her exactly how he felt about having Burns meddle in the murder case. But she’d sent him the list anyway.
Ordinarily, Burns liked lists. He liked making them, and he liked reading them. However, the lists he liked weren’t as dangerous as the one he was holding. He much preferred lists of things like “The Ten Best Western Movies of All Time“ to lists of guests at a party where toy soldiers were stolen, especially when it seemed that the soldiers were now going to be clues in a murder case.
Burns unfolded the paper and looked at the list. There were still eighty-six names on it, but some of them had been emphasized by a yellow highlighter. Burns counted them. Eleven. That wasn’t so bad.
Then he noticed that one of the highlighted names was very familiar.
“Bunni,“ he said, “were you at Dr. Partridge’s party for honor students?“
“Yes, sir,“ Bunni said, not looking away from the monitor. “I am one. An honor student, I mean. Anyway, I was there. I helped Dr. Partridge work on the list.“
“You helped her?“
Bunni turned to face him. “Yes, sir. She talked to me about it yesterday afternoon, and we went over the names together.“
“Why did she ask you to help her?“
“It was an outdoor party, and the invitations said for everyone to come around to the back of the house. But Dr. Partridge was afraid some people might forget that and come to the front door. She asked me to stay inside and answer the door and steer people through the house and out back. The names that are highlighted on the list are the ones who came inside before going out back.“
“So you think you saw everyone who came inside.“
Bunni hesitated, then said, “I’m not sure. I guess so. But the restrooms were inside, too, of course, and somebody might have had to come in and use one of them.“
Burns admitted that was a possibility. “But you saw everyone who came through the front door?“
“Maybe. I could have missed somebody.“
“Did anyone hang around? I mean, did anyone stay inside rather than going on out back?“
“Practically everybody who came in hung around,“ Bunni said. “It was kind of hot outside, but the air-conditioning was on in the house.“
Burns remembered how hot it had been. It would probably be hot again on Saturday, if it didn’t rain. He hoped it would rain, and not just to relieve everyone from the heat. He pictured the softball field as a sea of mud. It was a pleasant thought, but right now, he had other things to worry about.
“So you helped Dr. Partridge highlight these names,“ he said, holding up the list.
“Yes, sir. It’s everyone I can remember.“
Burns looked at the highlighted names again.
Besides Bunni, there was George Kaspar, also known as “The Ghost.“ He was Bunni’s boyfriend. No surprise that he was inside. Where Bunni was, there was George. There had been a little trouble between them in the spring, but that was all over now, or so Burns believed.
Since Burns was absolutely positive that neither George nor Bunni was capable of stealing toy soldiers, much less killing anyone, that left only nine names. Not that he was going to talk to them or anything, but nine would be a lot more manageable than eighty-six.
Burns sat at his desk and let Bunni get back to work. He stared at the nine names on the list: Harvey and Karen Ball, Steven Stilwell, Robert Yowell, Neal Bruce, Rex and Suzanne Cody, and Mary M. Mason.
That made eight. He’d hold off on the ninth for a little while.
Burns had met most of the eight whose names were on the list, and he knew a little about all of them. Prominent Pecan City citizens, one and all. Four of them were members of the HGC Board, the governing body that supposedly made most of the decisions about the college, though it was widely regarded as a rubber stamp for the president.
The wild card was Mary Mason. M-m-m, as her name was pronounced by nearly every male chauvanist pig in Pecan City, had made a fortune selling Merry Mary cosmetics. She drove an enormous pink Cadillac and had hair that was half-a-hive higher than Melva Jeans’s. No one knew exactly how old she was, but she was single and enjoyed dating men from twenty-five to ninety. Her only requirement was that they be ambulatory. She had been married at
least three times, but the marriages hadn’t lasted long.
All in all, Dean Partridge’s guests didn’t seem to be the kind of people whose names would appear on a list of suspects in a murder case, Burns thought.
And the names weren’t all that likely to be found on a list of people who might be expected to walk off with a half-dozen toy soldiers, either.
But Burns could go over the names with Partridge later, if he was actually going to do anything about them. Which he wasn’t. He’d promised Napier.
Those toy soldiers bothered him, though. It wasn’t so much the presence of one of them at the murder scene. What bothered him was that he’d been told about the one at the murder scene, but neither Mal nor Earl had mentioned it. That probably meant that the soldier wasn’t general knowledge.
Could it be one of those little details that the police liked to hold back from the public, that little bit of knowledge shared only by the killer and the cops?
If so, why had Burns been told? Did Napier trust him that much? And if Napier trusted him, did that mean Napier, although he’d told Burns not to get involved, fully expected that Burns would get involved anyway?
And, to make things even more complicated, why had Dean Partridge sent Burns the list of names after talking to Napier? Was it possible he hadn’t told her to keep Burns out of it? Or had he told her and been ignored?
It was all too much for Burns. He might be able to present a class with a reasonably entertaining and perspicacious interpretation of “The Waste Land,“ but he couldn’t fathom the workings of Boss Napier’s devious mind.
The police chief had sounded quite sincere, even threatening, when he’d told Burns to keep his nose out of things. But now Burns wasn’t sure that he’d really meant it.
And then there was that ninth name on the list.
Burns looked at the list again, hoping that it had somehow changed.
It hadn’t. It was still exactly the same, and the ninth name was still there, highlighted in bright yellow just like the other eight: R. M. Napier.
Chapter Nine
Burns wanted to talk to Dean Partridge, but he had to wait until Bunni left. There was no way to have a private conversation in the office while Bunni was there, and Burns didn’t want to ask her to leave while he made the phone call. He decided that he’d work on a list of his own to pass the time and to avoid thinking about either the ball game or the names Partridge had sent him.