by N. C. Lewis
"Really?"
"Yep." He nodded. "Andy Arrow!"
That got my attention, my head jerked back, and my mouth fell open. The barista wasn’t a trained psychologist but he may as well have been. He had a PhD from the university of life in understanding people, extracting information, and gossip.
"Can't bluff me. I know people, and things about them, like you wouldn’t believe." He grinned, then puffed out his chest. "How are things at the county jailhouse?"
"How on earth did you—"
He raised his palm. "Word on the Creek. Anyway, there is only one occupant in that building right now. I figure you think there is something suspicious about the death of Andy Arrow."
He was right, but I didn’t want to admit it, not even to myself. "What makes you so certain?"
He folded his arms across his chest. "'Cause it's like one of those impossible crimes you like to solve. Only, in this case, everyone saw the crime take place, so I guess it's already solved."
"Yep," I replied, "seems so."
The barista turned, prepared my drink, and as he handed it over said, "It's clear to the whole town how Andy Arrow died, and who killed him. The only real mystery is how long Dan Sweet will spend in prison."
I headed for my favorite spot by the window.
"Ollie, over here!"
I spun around but saw no one at first.
"Over here!"
It was Millie, sitting in a darkened corner of the café. I hurried over to her table, but she didn’t say anything else, just pulled out a packet of cigarettes and played with the wrapping.
"Smoke-free zone," I said, pointing to a sign by the counter.
"I've given up," she said without looking up.
"That's what I thought," I replied, sitting down and preparing to listen.
Millie reached for her handbag. Out popped Madame Bleu.
"Ooh la la, c'est terrible! The owner of the catering company treats Millie like une mule."
"A mule?"
"Oh oui, oui. Whatever the catering load, she must carry it."
"Now, now," said Professor Purple appearing on Millie's other hand. "It is not wholly unreasonable for the owner of the catering company to ask their newest catering supervisor to cover shifts for where they are short on staff."
Madame Bleu's eyes grew wide. "Ten-hour shifts for the next seven days! Millie is un artiste, not a pack mule. Such a schedule will crush her creativity. C'est impossible!"
Professor Purple turned and glanced in my direction. "It is true that one must work hard at whatever one chooses to do? Millie has chosen the open road of catering. She must sweat, grind, and toil today, tomorrow, this week, next week, until she becomes an enormous success."
Millie's eyes narrowed, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, Madam Bleu cried out, "But not for half the pay and five times the hours of her part-time newspaper position!"
Professor Purple shook his head slowly as Madam Bleu slipped into Millie's handbag. Then the sock puppet stared into Millie's face. "Catering is a rocky road—meager pay and no benefits—but it is what you want, isn't it?"
At last, Millie spoke up. "Well, there is a certain freedom to being a part-time reporter for the Medlin Creek Times… and I can choose my hours. The open road of catering is not for everyone."
"What about the plains of the Serengeti and the mountain peaks of the Himalayas?" I asked.
She waved a hand as if swatting a fly. "Been there, done that."
"What?"
"Have you any idea of the size of the carbon footprint of air travel?"
"Eh?" I was confused.
Millie lowered her voice, "Wikipedia! Thanks to Wikipedia I've seen the plains of the Serengeti and the mountain peaks of the Himalayas, and all without adding to my carbon footprint. It only took me ten minutes yesterday evening. Both places are very nice. Now I've seen them I've decided I quite like Medlin Creek."
"I see," I said. "Well, maybe you should look into the death of Andy Arrow."
"What's the angle?"
I shrugged. "Andy Arrow's relationships. I'm sure there is enough intrigue for an article in the Medlin Creek Times."
"The owner will never publish anything that throws a bad light on the college."
"Then submit it to the Austin American Statesman."
She leaned forward, her eyes growing wide. "Oh my gosh, Ollie, that's it!" She jumped up and punched a fist in the air.
"What's it?"
"Your idea. It's my gravy train to a full-time position at the Medlin Creek Times. I'll write the article while I work in catering. Once my story hits in Austin, it will only be a matter of time before the owner of the newspaper offers me a full-time position. It's a perfect strategy."
I wasn’t so sure. "It's a bit of a long shot," I cautioned.
"It'll work," Millie said with confidence. "Now tell me everything you know about Andy Arrow and his acquaintances, and I'll do a little digging."
Chapter 25
After I had told Millie all I knew, we sat quietly for a while listening to the low din of voices, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the ping of the cash register. There was nothing much left to say about the death of Andy Arrow, anyway. We had covered every angle, and now we sat in silence. Millie in her thoughts, and me in mine.
The doorbell chimed, and a group of tourists strolled into the café. The barista stood up ready to serve. Millie finished her second cup of coffee, frowned, and chewed her lip in thoughtful reflection.
"Outside of Dan Sweet, who would benefit the most from Andy's death?" she asked at last.
"I can't say." Then I thought for a while and added, "There could be an inheritance. It might all go to his daughter, or ex-wife, or girlfriend, or maybe he was broke..."
Millie's eyes flashed. "What about at work? Who, at the community college, would benefit from his death?"
"Dan Sweet."
"Yes, but who else?" prodded Millie stretching her hands out on the tabletop.
"Ava Torgersen, I suppose."
"Who?" asked a masculine voice. It was Professor Purple.
"Ava is a professor at the college. I believe she was a candidate for Andy Arrow's position."
Professor Purple's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Ah, I see now," he said. "I can see it all very clearly now."
"Elle l'a fait!" cried Madame Bleu, suddenly appearing on Millie's other hand.
"Eh? I don't speak French."
"She did it!" explained Madame Bleu." Elle l'a fait means she did it."
Professor Purple nodded. "Ava wanted Professor Arrow's position so she…" His voice trailed off, and he shook his head with a knowing look.
"Ooh la la, it must have been an act overflowing with la passion et l'émotion," added Madame Bleu, trembling and disappearing back into Millie's handbag. Professor Purple followed close behind.
Millie let out a lighthearted giggle. "The first trick is to figure out whether Ava's desire for the position could drive her to murder if indeed there was a murder."
"That's why we should wait for the medical examiner's report," I argued.
Millie heaved a heavy sigh. "I'd love to wait, but the newspaper business is cutthroat. If Professor Arrow was murdered, and if Ava is the killer, it will be a front-page news story, especially if there is a love angle as well."
"That's a lot of ifs," I said.
Millie heaved a morose sigh. "I know, I know, but I'd like to get a head start on the story."
"How are you going to do that?"
She was silent, deep in her own thoughts for a moment. Then her eyes twinkled.
"The key to the mystery is whether Ava wanted Andy Arrow's job badly enough to kill. If we get an answer to this, we'd know the rest."
"But how can you get an answer to that question?" I asked.
Professor Purple appeared. "The logical answer is to find someone who knows Professor Ava Torgersen. A friend or a trusted associate and have them ask the question." His head swiveled to gaze at me. "Ava is a col
league, isn't she?"
"Oh no," I said, raising my hands. "No, no, no!"
Madame Bleu appeared. "If Ava is le meurtrier, how you say in English, the murderer, is it not your duty to bring it to light, so she can be captured?"
"It is all our duty," I retorted.
"But she is your coworker," countered Professor Purple with a devilish grin. "The killer is either Dan Sweet or Ava Torgersen. What other possibility is there?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Okay," I said looking from Professor Purple to Madame Bleu and then Millie. "Let's say Ava did it. The question is how?"
"There is only one way to find out," answered Professor Purple, his eyes narrowing. "Ask her!"
The puppets had me in a corner; they knew it, and so did I. I shifted nervously in my chair and picked at the tablecloth. We fell silent for a while musing it all. Yet, even still, in the gloom of the café and quite familiar sounds, I wondered and had small doubts. What was Ava's relationship with Andy Arrow? Did she have a role in his death?
"Let's wait for the medical examiner's report," I said again. "It'll be here tomorrow. What do you say, Millie?"
Millie didn’t answer, but Professor Purple's lips curved into a sly smile.
"A quiet word, that's all it will take. Just a quiet word with Ava Torgersen. It will be like one of those Hollywood movies."
"Ooh la la," added Madame Bleu. "Ollie you can play le bon policier, how you say in English, the good cop if she cooperates." Madame Bleu's eyes narrowed. "And bad cop—le mauvais policier—if she doesn’t. There is no doubt Ava will crack, and either way, the truth will spill out, and we can all go back to living the peaceful life."
Then the puppets disappeared into Millie's handbag and she heaved a morose sigh. "Please Ollie, just this once. I know it's a lot to ask, and I wouldn't if I wasn’t so close to getting a full-time position at the Medlin Creek Times."
"But what if it goes wrong?" I argued.
"How can it go wrong?"
I didn’t know but felt certain it could.
Millie leaned forward and whispered. "It's a perfect plan. Nothing can go wrong. I guarantee it."
Again, she sighed, and I sighed with her.
"Please."
"Okay," I said reluctantly. "I'll speak with Ava this afternoon."
Chapter 26
I parked in a staff space at Medlin Creek Community College and gazed out of the windshield wondering where to begin. The sky was deep blue but darkening with another round of swirling, gray clouds moving in from the west. I'd promised Millie that I would do my best to speak with Ava today. But, it was after three o'clock, the time when many academics, who aren’t teaching in the evening, leave for home.
"Ava's probably gone for the day," I muttered. "I'll hang around for ten minutes, then head back to Ealing Homestead and finish reading my novel."
I pulled out my cell phone and sent a text message:
Ava,
Need to speak with you about Dan Sweet. Are you on campus right now?
And wouldn't you know it—three minutes later she replied.
Come to my office in twenty minutes, I'll be waiting.
While I waited I scrolled through my text messages, looked at social media websites, and finally pulled up my finances. The event center business was sputtering along, but still not breaking even. Teaching here at the college was my only stable source of income, and now with the promotion, I could relax a little. I half closed my eyes and dreamed about how I would spend the new income.
A sudden clap of thunder shook the atmosphere. I climbed out of the Tahoe and hurried toward the entrance. I didn’t want to get caught in another downpour. As the automatic glass door slid shut behind me, there was another rumble of thunder. A wall of rain splashed and clattered down from the heavens.
Inwardly I smiled. "At least I'm inside and dry this time," I said to no one in particular.
"Yep, ya beat the rain; lucky you." said a familiar voice.
I glanced around, and there leaning against her walker, and peering out of the glass doors at the rain, was Mrs. Hobs.
"Congratulations!" she said with a toothless grin.
"Thank you, but for what?" I responded.
Mrs. Hobs placed a finger on her lips, glanced around, and then as if she was revealing a great secret whispered, "Doctor Stratford, congratulations on your promotion."
"Oh, it is only until the college finds a replacement for Andy Arrow," I said waving a dismissive hand.
"Seems to me," she said with a sly smile, "until then you're riding a gravy train with biscuit wheels."
I tilted my head back and laughed. "Mrs. Hobs, I think you might be right. I'm especially fond of biscuit wheels and gravy."
"Can't say I've tasted it much in my life, but I wish you well." Mrs. Hobs sniffed.
Suddenly energized I took the stairwell to the second floor. Ava's office was along a narrow windowless hallway with a threadbare carpet and white doors with peepholes on each side. It reminded me of project housing back in Brooklyn. For a few minutes, I stood outside her door, getting my breath and trying to clear my thoughts. Presently, the pounding of my heart from the exertion of climbing the stairs subsided, and I knocked.
"Come in," called Ava in a lighthearted voice.
The room, a small, dingy rectangle with peeling paint resembled three or four broom closets squashed together. It was sparsely decorated: two desks, blinds, and a potted palm in the corner by a row of shelving.
Ava sat with her back to the door, gazing out of the window at the sheet of rain, with her bare feet on the windowsill. She half turned. "Oh, I enjoy the sensation of warm drops of rain on my skin. I wish I was outside running through it. Don't you, Doctor Stratford?"
That caught me by surprise. "There's been rather a lot of it to enjoy this year."
Ava chuckled.
I relaxed.
"So, you want to talk about Dan Sweet?"
Ava always started right in. She didn’t know how to do small talk for very long, or maybe she didn’t care for it. Either way, she didn’t beat around the bush, and neither did I.
"Yes," I answered.
"What can I tell you?"
"I'm not sure," I admitted, not wanting to ask her directly if she killed Andy Arrow.
"Well…" her voice trailed off. She frowned, hesitated, and her eyes flicked around the room, settling on the office door which was slightly ajar, as if she was expecting someone. "You may as well hear it from me rather than the college rumor mill…" Again, her voice trailed off.
"Go on," I said, "go on." I sensed there was some hidden secret she couldn’t wait to reveal.
"Well, I visited with Dan this afternoon. It was my duty as a loyal member of the team."
That surprised me, again. Was she in cahoots with Dan? I dismissed the idea as ridiculous.
"You visited Dan today?" I said, trying to hide my shock.
"Yes."
"How was he?"
Ava swiveled her chair around, crouched over her desk and gave me a withering look. She raised her voice. "That's a strange question given the fact you were supposed to visit Dan this morning. Didn’t you fulfill your duty?"
Before I could answer, she continued, "Dan is resting in his cell. For all his bluster, it's still a shock to see a fellow professor die before your eyes…" Ava paused, as if for dramatic effect. "… And at your own hands!"
There was something about this situation that didn’t feel right. Something about her voice that made the hairs on my arms move of their own free will. Something—but I couldn’t figure out what.
I cut to the chase. "Do you believe Dan killed Andy?"
She arched her penciled brows. "Don't you?"
"The medical examiner's report will give more details," I hedged.
"Ah yes, the medical examiner's report…" She raised her hand in front of her face and admired her highly polished fingernails."I don't think they will find anything, nothing at all." Her lips curved into a knowi
ng smile.
Now I was curious, maybe she did know something. If she did, I wanted to know it too. "What makes you so certain?"
Ava laughed and stretched out her hands on the desk. "Because if Dan didn’t kill Andy, whoever did is a genius. They won't slip up, medical examiner or not." Again, she examined her polished nails.
"Ah, I see now," I said, my eyes growing wide. "I can see it all very clearly now."
Her voice took on a sinister tone. "Are you sure, Doctor Stratford? Are you absolutely sure?"
Before I could respond, she stood up and pointed a slender finger. "I was next in line for Andy Arrow's position. You stole it from me, and if there is one thing this college does not like it is bullies and thieves."
"Bullies?" I quizzed.
"Yes, you bullied Professor Bingham into giving you the position that was rightfully mine. You stole it from me!"
"Eh?" The whole situation had turned bizarre.
Ava's face twisted into an ugly snarl. "Doctor Stratford, I find your actions reprehensible, and I will not stand for it. Resign from your new position now, and hand it over to its rightful owner—me. This is your final warning."
A vein pulsated in my neck. If there is one thing that sets me off, it's threats. My husband, John, used to say, "When you have real power you don't need to threaten. If you're the one with the power don't rise to the threat." I knew he was right, but I wasn’t in a corporate boardroom. It was me and Ava, one on one, and I wasn’t going to back away. If the diva wanted to play rough, she had met her match. I'm Brooklyn tough, and can roll with the punches and dish it out too.
For an instant, Madame Bleu's image flooded my mind. Her eyes were wide as she said, "Is it not the time for le mauvais policier—the bad cop?" I knew I should have ignored the sock puppet, that leadership takes a calm mind and steady hand, but this afternoon, for some inexplicable reason, Ava had gotten under my skin.
I chose bad cop.
"Play it with la passion et l'émotion," I heard Madame Bleu say.
And I did.
"Ava Torgersen," I shouted, advancing toward her and thoroughly enjoying my bad-cop role. "I know you killed Andy Arrow. I don't know how, but you killed him, didn’t you? Admit it, you're a murderer!"