by Mary Angela
“If you’re sure it’ll be okay ….”
“Positive,” I said. “I’ll tell him I gave you permission, if you want.”
“I guess I’ll see you there, then.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” I continued briskly toward Stanton Hall so I wouldn’t be late for class. Distracted, I nearly ran into a student as I pulled open the door. I mumbled an apology, but I couldn’t keep my mind off the new information: Mia wasn’t the psycho, which meant she wasn’t the killer. So, who was?
As I began class, my mind was still whirring with possibilities, and none of them had to do with my composition course. Actually, one of them did relate, but not directly. Our final essay was the research paper, and today we were going over logical fallacies—faulty logic. We were completing a worksheet as a class, and a student was reading over relevance fallacies when a line tripped the thought.
“Wait,” I said. “Could you read that again, please?”
The student nodded and read the line slowly. “Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.”
“Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence,” I repeated. I thought back to the banquet. Though I didn’t have evidence, one person was not absent. One person, and one person alone had a very good reason for being there. She also had a reason for killing Tanner and poisoning Andy.
The class responded to my enthusiasm with deadpan stares. I checked the clock. “Finish the worksheet at home and return it on Monday. Shakespeare’s birthday party starts in fifteen minutes. I hope to see you there.”
As they packed up early, their moods improved greatly. So did mine. I knew who the killer was, and I was about to prove it. I pulled out my phone and called Sophie, describing my plan as I hurried down the stairs. She promised to meet me at Harmony. I wanted to test my theory, and if there was anything I was good at, it was tests. This one would prove once and for all who killed Tanner, poisoned Andy, and tried to kill me.
Racing into the museum, I paused briefly at the folio. Shakespeare was at the center of the story. Tanner had been determined to expose him as a fake. Tanner also attempted to reveal the identity of the woman in the wig, but she deftly dodged him. She wouldn’t dodge me, for I knew how cunning she was, how crafty, and how dangerous. She’d managed to deceive me more than anyone, and I felt a trickle of what Tanner felt as he revealed the identity of Shakespeare. Betrayed and angry, I was determined to put her in jail.
A sign pointed the way to the location of Shakespeare’s birthday party, the large lecture hall on the first floor. Instead of auditorium seating, there were benches—rows and rows of them. Felix, Andy, Reed, and Giles were at a table near the podium. On the table was a huge cake topped with a bust of Shakespeare, and behind it, a white board with markers. Perfect.
I made my way toward the group, excusing myself as I zigzagged through the crowd just starting to form. “Andy, glad to see you’re feeling better. Hi, Felix. Giles, I need to talk to you.”
“Of course.” Giles turned to Felix, Andy, and Reed. “Excuse me.”
When we were a few steps away, I told him my plan. For it to work, I needed to make a slight room alteration and introduce our guests. Sophie would be here soon, so no one would be in danger.
“I don’t see what that would hurt,” said Giles. “I’ll have Reed cut the cake instead of introduce our guests.”
Never mind protocol, did he realize I’d found the killer? I asked him.
“Of course you did,” said Giles. “I have the utmost confidence in your abilities. I can’t tell you how much it means to me, personally.” Bowing slightly, he added, “Thank you.”
Leaving me humbled and proud, he returned to the table. While the crowd gathered, I put the suspect to the test. She didn’t disappoint. Then I joined the four men behind the table.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Giles thanked everyone for coming to the celebration. “April twenty-third,” he said, “is an important day for Shakespeare scholars. It’s the day we celebrate the life and the death of the author whose work is on exhibit downstairs. Regardless of the mysteries that remain concerning the author himself, the work he left behind has stood the test of time. His sonnets are still read, his plays still produced, and his life still celebrated, because audiences connect with his words even today. Scholars pass stories from one generation to the next. We are stewards of information and must do our jobs with care.”
He glanced at me. I was ready.
“I know Professor Prather will take good care to introduce our distinguished guests, who are sadly leaving today,” he said. “Please give her your full attention.”
I stood and walked to the podium, glad I’d worn my red heels. I didn’t have to adjust the microphone. “Thank you, Professor Giles, and thanks to all of you for coming.” Seated on the third bench, Lenny gave me a thumbs-up. In front of him were Mia and her roommates. Next to Mia was Jacob, and a few rows back was Denton. Sophie and Beamer stood at the double doors.
“Professor Giles said it best,” I continued. “We’re stewards of knowledge, and when it comes to Shakespeare, no one is more knowledgeable than Felix Lewis. He’s dedicated his life to the author’s work—studying at Oxford, writing books, mentoring new scholars.” I motioned to his understudy, Andy. “With his stellar reputation, it might be hard to understand why I thought he was capable of killing Tanner Sparks.” A murmur rippled through the room, and I moved closer to the microphone. “It was these very reasons that made me believe it was possible. He has dedicated his life to an author Tanner Sparks dismissed as a phony. Many of you were angry. Imagine being Felix Lewis.”
“Rubbish,” said Felix. “I was angry at Reed, here, for allowing it. He didn’t give the boy good advice.”
I ignored the interruption. “Andy, also, devoted a book to the great bard. With its release pending this fall, he had to dismiss Tanner’s scholarship as slipshod or suffer a worse fate himself: seeing his book poorly received.”
“My book’s already been well received,” huffed Andy. “Read the reviews!”
I quelled his fears with a wave of my hand. “It was possible they killed Tanner. They submitted sonnets, they argued with Tanner—Andy even studied with him as an undergrad. But they didn’t kill him. How do I know this?”
“Let me guess,” said Jane Lemort, seated in the front row. “You’re going to tell us.”
“The woman in the wig told me,” I said.
“I’ve read that!” said Kat, a student from my Crimes and Passions course last semester.
“You’re thinking of The Woman in the Window,” I whispered. “But let us continue. Several times in the course of the investigation, black hair has been mentioned or left behind. Andy himself noticed a woman with black hair—which is why she tried to eliminate him. Tanner, too, knew her identity. He tried to expose her at the symposium by pulling off her wig.”
“Who was she?” asked Mia.
“For a long time, I thought it was you.”
“What?” said Mia. “Why?”
I motioned to Alexander Schwartz, who was leaning against the wall. “It was Professor Schwartz who told me the person who’d left the skull in the bathroom had intimate knowledge of the theater. He or she was familiar with the tunnel that ran under the stage. You yourself mentioned working at the theater every afternoon, and I knew the killer and the woman were one in the same.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Mia. “I didn’t kill Tanner!”
“I know you didn’t,” I said. “I know Jacob and Denton didn’t either.” Jacob was slumped low in his chair, trying to look casual. Denton adjusted his glasses, interested in what I had to say. “While Jacob had access to and knowledge of the theater, he himself was a victim. I knew by his dismal performance Friday night he hadn’t left the flowers for himself.”
“Gee, thanks,” Jacob said.
“You’re welcome.” I nodded at Denton. “And while Mr. Smart is smart enough to get away with murder, he, to
o, was a victim. His acceptance into the summer research program was put on hold, which was enough for him to put away the de Vere theory for good. He took no further interest in it.”
“So then who?” said Claudia. Sitting next to Lenny, she was growing impatient.
“I was left with the girls down the street: Mia, Hailey, Alice, and Mackenzie.”
“Wait,” said Mia. “You said it wasn’t me.”
I shook my head. “You had motive to kill Tanner. Plus, you were closest to him. Poisoning him would have been easy for you. But you’re right. You didn’t do it. One of your friends wanted me to think you did, though.”
Mia leaned back from the group.
“I saw Tanner as he was leaving your house one day,” I continued. “He said ‘That girl is psycho.’ I assumed he meant you, but later I realized that couldn’t have been. You were working for Professor Schwartz that afternoon. So it must have been one of your roommates, the same one he tried to expose at the symposium.”
Mia blinked back tears, shaking her head. “No, they didn’t. They couldn’t have.”
“They could, and one did.” I ticked off the possibilities from my mental list. “Hailey is the strongest and the most familiar with the theater. Plus, she works at Bluff View, the restaurant where Andy was poisoned. Mackenzie dated Tanner and knew him better than the others. As a musician, she also had unlimited access to the theater. Alice was the youngest, but smartest, and had her own reasons for hating Tanner.”
“Which one was it?” said Mia.
I stepped to the side, directing everyone’s attention to the whiteboard. “See for yourself.” In black, all-capital letters, it read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SHAKESPEARE!
“It’s the writing,” gasped Claudia. “The uppercase writing from the sonnet.”
“I was right,” said Thomas Cook, who was at Lenny’s other side.
“Correct and correct again,” I said. “Minutes before we began, I asked one of the girls to write the message on the board. She quickly obliged, revealing her identity as the sonnet writer with the stroke of her hurried hand.”
Slowly, like raindrops, the clapping began. It became stronger and stronger until everyone was staring at Alice, who was applauding me. She stood and tipped a pretend hat. Her hair might be a beautiful shade, but it was also very short, short enough to wear the wig and cover her scar.
“I think you should sit down,” I said.
“And not defend myself?” Alice shook her head. “You tricked me, Professor.”
“No, Alice, you tricked me.” I could hear the anger in my own voice. “At every turn. you left clues pointing to Mia: the bouquet, the skull, the wig. She was the victim. How could you do that to your friend?”
“I needed to teach her a lesson,” said Alice. “She wouldn’t listen to me. I told her that Tanner was abusive. One day he’d go too far, and she’d be left with a face like mine. What theater would take her then?”
“I knew that scar bothered you!” said Hailey. “That’s why I left the health services brochure on the table. I wanted you to talk to someone about it.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” said Alice. “It’s proof of what I’ve been through, a boot spur to the face.” She turned to Mia. “You should be grateful.”
“For your attempts to send me to jail?” said Mia.
“A jail cell is better than a casket, isn’t it?” said Alice. “That’s what happened to my mother. She was a funeral director. My dad made sure she got to try one out for herself.”
“That’s how you know so much about flowers,” I said.
“Yes, my mom knew the perfect flower for every occasion,” said Alice. “Hers was the most beautiful funeral of all, and she never got to see it. Isn’t that ironic, Professor Prather? I bet I used the term correctly. You’re not the only smart person in the English Department.”
“Yes, Alice, you’re very smart.” I knew what she wanted to hear, and I was about to tell her. “Share with me how you did it.”
Alice smiled at the compliment. “Hailey or Mackenzie might have done it.”
“No, they’re not nearly as clever as you,” I said, continuing with the charade. “This murder was a work of art.”
She let out a hiss of air. “I knew you’d think so, and I wanted to impress you. I hoped we’d talk about it in class next semester.”
“And we will,” I said. “But I need to know how. You’ve stumped me.”
She stared at me like I was the only person in the room, the crowd fading into the pale-green walls. The look sent me off-kilter, and I glanced at Lenny to steady myself before turning my attention back to Alice.
“I put the antifreeze in his bottle of soda after the performance,” explained Alice. “He drank it down in a few swigs. When he started getting sick, I knew it was working and followed him home. He only made it halfway across campus before he had to stop in the garden, which was open for Friday’s event. He passed out on the bench.”
It made sense now. No one carried him to the bench; he walked there himself.
“I wasn’t going to miss that opportunity,” said Alice. “So later, when I knew he was dead, I brought back the liquid and poured it in his ear. The disgusting pig had fallen over, and I had to touch him, but it was worth it. I knew you’d pick up on the scene from Hamlet right away.”
“Bravo,” I said. “A-plus work.”
“It would have been—if Andy hadn’t recognized me from the conference.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “When he told you about me at Felix’s keynote speech, I knew I had to act, but there wasn’t much time. I was rushed. I didn’t put enough antifreeze in his drinks.” She took her hands out of her pockets and pounded her fists into her thighs. “Stupid, stupid. I ruined all my plans.”
“Don’t blame yourself.” I tried to calm her down as Beamer approached with handcuffs. “It was the alcohol that lessened its efficacy. Besides, I knew it was you already.”
“You did?” Alice looked almost relieved.
“First, there was the sonnet, written in perfect iambic pentameter,” I said. “Not easily done outside the English Department. Then there were my missing keys. Who else but someone in the department would know my penchant for late-night walks? Finally, if Andy was poisoned at the English banquet, which I surmised, you were the only one on the guest list.” I shook my head. “I felt foolish for not thinking of that earlier.”
“What about the plant?” said Lenny. “Don’t forget that.”
“Right,” I said. “I also knew you purchased the plant. Your roommates are graduating; you’re not. They wouldn’t purchase a giant houseplant before moving. You did it for one reason: to cover up another purchase you made—a pot of pansies.”
She dug in her heels as Beamer put on the cuffs. Her sneakers squeaked on the floor as he tried to move her. “I wish you’d died there in your garage. If it wasn’t for that crazy neighbor of yours, you’d be dead right now, and I’d be free.”
A woman wearing pink lipstick stood up in the back row. “I’d mind my manners if I were you, missy. You’re the one in handcuffs.”
I squinted. “Mrs. Gunderson, is that you?”
“Of course it is, dear,” she said. “At my age, I don’t miss a chance for free cake.”
Epilogue
Back at my house, I started tidying up. Alice was going to jail, and I was safe. That meant Lenny would be collecting his things, the remnants of our last few days together. I sighed as I picked up a sweatshirt he’d left on the couch. I brought it to my face and inhaled. If the wind had a scent, this was it. I’d miss having him around. His voice, his laughter, his kindness. Dickinson jumped on the back of the couch. She’d miss him too.
Hearing a knock at the screen door, I turned around. Like magic, it was Lenny. In a poof, he’d arrived just as I was thinking of him. I tossed the sweatshirt over my shoulder, and it landed on Dickinson. I knew because she uttered a meow.
I opened the door.
“Come in,” I said.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Thank you.” I brought the flower to my nose, closed my eyes, and inhaled. When I opened my eyes, I noticed something gold in the middle of the petals. My eyes flew to Lenny’s.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Look.”
Inside the rose was a diamond ring. My hand trembled as I retrieved it from the petals. A thin gold band, a bright white diamond—it could only mean one thing. My breath caught in my throat.
“I’m going to say this before I lose my nerve,” said Lenny. “I wish I could be like those guys you read about in your romance novels, but I’m not. I’m just a guy who loves you.” He took the ring and slid it on my fourth finger. “I’ve loved you for a long time, and I have to know, do you love me?”
Tears flooded my eyes. “Yes, I love you.”
He took a breath. “Will you marry me?”
He was my best friend, my soul mate, my partner-in-crime. No matter what we did or where we went, if I said yes, we would always be together. “Yes.”
“Thank god.” He tipped my chin and kissed me tenderly. Then we embraced, the tears from my eyes wetting his shirt. When we parted, I still had the rose in my hand, and he had something else in his.
“What’s that?”
Smiling, he handed me the paper. “Our honeymoon reservation.”
I squinted to read the small font. “Wait, this can’t be right. Saint Émilion.” I looked up. “That’s in France.”
“Happy wedding day, Em. You’re going to France.”
* * * *
Julie Prairie Photography
Mary Angela is the author of the Professor Prather academic mystery series, which has been called “enjoyable” and “clever” by Publishers Weekly. She is also an educator and has taught English and humanities at South Dakota’s public and private universities for over ten years. When Mary isn’t writing or teaching, she enjoys reading, traveling, and spending time with her family.