Motherhood Is Murder

by Carolyn Hart

  “The one and only,” I said, and put my finger to my lips. We were, after all, standing in a crowded parking lot surrounded by joyous students and their proud families as well as RECC faculty and administrators.

  Betty uttered her next words just above a whisper. “You think he killed Ria Seth?”

  “Yes, I do,” I replied. “And you can help prove it. I’d also like to know what kind of car he drives. Security gets that information on all faculty members when they give us parking stickers. They should have a photo of him too, a copy of the one on his ID card.” Betty nodded. When I saw her reach into her purse for her Palm Pilot, I knew she was taking me seriously. I also knew that Ramrod Ramsey would have no trouble getting information out of Human Resources or Security at RECC.

  “And Illuminada, will you see if this same individual has a record for anything or even a newspaper trail?” I asked. “Have your minions check all fifty states, please.” I handed her another Post-It, on which I had scrawled the same name. I knew her staff could enter it into a few specially designed search engines and come up with the data I wanted, assuming it was there.

  “But what about the Eldridges?” asked Betty. “I thought…”

  I held up my hand as if to block her inquiry. Before either woman could question me further, I said, “I don’t want to rush you, but if this creep isn’t apprehended soon, he may kill again.”

  Betty’s jaw dropped and Illuminada’s eyebrows arched. I know they were taken aback by my unprecedented failure to disclose my thought processes in excruciating detail. They’d have to wait to hear the nitty-gritty. I tossed my cap and gown on the back seat of my car and began extricating from my hair the bobby pins I’d used to secure my mortarboard. “I don’t have time to explain now because Sol and I are taking Ma and Sofia out for a belated Mother’s Day dinner. But as soon as you get the information, we’ll get together and I’ll tell you everything. Then, as the kids say, we’ll all be on the same page.” With that, I air-kissed my friends, got into my car, and drove off.

  The very next night, Betty, Illuminada, and I met at Illuminada’s house in Union City to pool information. No sooner had we served ourselves generous helpings of the Thai take-out I had brought than Betty took out her Palm Pilot. Taking notes while eating was not a challenge for a multitasker of Betty’s skill. According to her boss, she was not really happy unless she was doing three or four complicated things at the same time and taking multiple phone messages as well. Holding chopsticks in one hand and her Palm in the other, she said, “So Bel, I can’t stand it another minute. Why do you suspect Harold Eggers?”

  “Last week a student named Aline Dedham wanted me to sign a drop slip,” I began. Both Betty and Illuminada suspended their chopsticks in midair for a second or two while they contemplated this academic anomaly.

  “But the semester’s over,” Betty said. “Students can’t drop courses after the deadline. And that, as we all know, was well before midterms.” Clearly her sense of order was offended by this breach of protocol.

  Illuminada pointed to her watch. “Bel, the Cliff Notes version, please. I told Raoul I’d be home before midnight.” Her voice was raspy with irritation. I was through with classes, but my two friends had worked all day and had to do it again the next day.

  “Aline has two important things in common with Ria Seth. She’s pretty and she’s majoring in electrical engineering. She wanted to dropout so as not to face one of her profs again, the one she was convinced would fail her if she didn’t, as she put it, ‘go out with him.’ I paused so that my friends could process the euphemism Aline had used as well as its implications. “She’s unwilling to press charges or even tell me who he is,” I said, “because her mom’s in rehab and she thinks her stepfather would blame her.”

  “You mean one of her profs has been hitting on her?” exclaimed Betty. Indignation made her voice shrill.

  “Chiquita, the term is harassing,” said Illuminada. “Students hit on each other. Profs harass students.” Her sarcasm was not lost on Betty, no stranger to the legal niceties of student–faculty relations.

  “After I talked to her, I checked her schedule to see if I could figure out who she was protecting. I was thinking how sad it was that of my two best students this semester, one was killed and the other is being harassed and wants to drop out. Then I saw that I was Aline’s only female prof. I remembered the urgency in Ria’s voice when she scheduled a private conference with me to talk about something she’d described as a ‘private problem.’ I looked up her schedule.” I spoke quickly between forkfuls of rice and pataya. Unlike my friends, I had never been able to defer gratification at the table long enough to master chopsticks. “Both Ria and Aline were students of Harold Eggers.” This statement came out as a kind of triumphant pronouncement and was greeted by total silence.

  Illuminada was the first to react. “Como mierde, Bel! It fits what I found on him in a newspaper in Colorado.” She pulled a folder out of her briefcase, but she didn’t need to look at the papers it held. “He was not granted tenure at a small women’s college there because of an unproven allegation that he instigated an ‘improper relationship’ with a student. At the last minute the student refused to press charges, but the college did not retain him. And I found another article about him when he was at a private co-ed college in Minnesota. He was actually arrested for harassment but the charges were dropped. His contract there was not renewed.” Illuminada handed me the folder. I took it and greeted her news with a thumbs-up.

  “Okay, okay,” said Betty. “I have two questions. He sounds like a serial sex offender who preys on female students. So why did we hire him?”

  “We don’t do background checks on faculty that go beyond the data on their résumés, and I bet he didn’t even list those schools,” I said.

  Betty, familiar now with Eggers’s résumé, nodded. “Nigar hired him as a temporary full-timer at the last minute at the start of this semester when Anita Steppens left to take a tenure track position in the computer science department at State,” said Betty, glancing at her notes. “As department chair, Nigar can hire temporary full-timers for one year contracts without convening a search committee. And Bel, you wanted a rundown on his car. Security says he drives a white 1990 Toyota Corolla wagon. I’ve got the plate number, too.”

  “Yes!” I shouted, startling my dinner companions. “I’m pretty sure I can get a witness to testify that she saw a car of that description in the vicinity of the Eldridges’ house often. There’s a neighborhood gardener who remembers seeing a man in a white Corolla on that block frequently right before the murder.” Noting that Betty still looked perplexed I said, “I’m sorry, Betty. What’s your second question?”

  “How would Eggers know where she worked or when she would be alone in the house? After all, with Davida and Torrence popping in and out, he could have run into either one of them. And how did he get in?” Betty queried.

  “I finally figured that out,” I said, trying not to sound as proud of myself as I felt. “After Jonas made a presentation about the Classroom-cam to the Faculty Senate, Harold said something about how anybody who knew his way around Radio Shack and how to solder could spy on any professor teaching in a room where a Classroom-cam had been installed.” Betty nodded. After all, she had explained this argument to RECC’s president. “Harold Eggers probably followed Ria to learn where she worked. He’s certainly technically savvy enough to have intercepted the images on the Eldridges’ Nanny-cam. That’s why he knew how easy it would be to intercept the images on the Classroom-cam and that’s why he thought somebody might do it. He just projected his own motives and behavior onto others. Anyway, once he knew where to find Ria, he just waited until he was sure she was alone. And when he showed up at the door, I’m sure Ria did not refuse to let him in. After all, he was her professor, and she had him for two courses. Besides, who knew?”

  “She was probably worried about her GPA, too. Faculty haven’t handed in grades yet. Then once she let him i
n, she must have resisted his moves on the grounds that she was to be married, and when he heard that…. dios mio,” said Illuminada.

  “He lost it and strangled her,” said Betty, softly putting into words what we all assumed.

  “But first he would have jammed the Nanny-cam,” I added. “Condo Edmondo wouldn’t have known to do that.”

  “I was able to get a photo of him,” Betty added. “That should help.” She put down her chopsticks and reached for her briefcase.

  “Thanks,” I said taking the folder she handed me. “I suspect the gardener will recognize him.”

  “Well, chiquita, I’m impressed by how you figured all that out,” Illuminada said. She had a swallow of Tsing Tao beer left, and she downed it before she stood to begin clearing up.

  “I may have figured it out, but I’d appreciate it if you’d take it to the cops,” I said. I handed Illuminada the folder she had given me earlier along with the one from Betty.

  “Chiquita, it will be my very great pleasure. I’ll enjoy seeing how red their faces get when they realize that Condo Edmondo is not their man,” said Illuminada.

  Less than a week later Sol and I were clearing up after the first barbecue of the season. “The burgers were delicious, love. My compliments to the chef,” I said, raising an empty beer bottle in his direction before I rinsed it.

  “The chocolate cake was pretty stellar, too,” Sol replied. “And I think all our guests went home happy, especially your mom.”

  “Yes. She certainly had a good time,” I said, wrapping the unused chopped beef in plastic. “It’s too bad Illuminada’s mom couldn’t make it tonight though. She and Ma always have fun catching up and comparing notes. But Ma loves hanging out with our friends, and, of course, it doesn’t hurt that you treat her like the Queen of Sheba.” I smiled to myself, recalling how years ago Sol and Ma had made peace. “And she ate well, too.” Ma had polished off a second helping of German potato salad.

  “And you seemed pretty happy, especially when Illuminada came in with that article about the arrest. Did she leave a copy?” asked Sol.

  “We have our own copy,” I said. “It’s in today’s paper over there on the counter under the plate of sliced onions. Hand me those onions, please while you’re there.”

  RECC PROF CHARGED

  In Slaying of Coed

  A member of the faculty at River Edge Community College, Harold R. Eggers, has been charged in the murder of Ria Seth last month. Authorities originally attributed this crime to a burglar who had been active in the neighborhood and was out on parole. However, a witness has identified Eggers as someone who frequented the area of the Eldridges’ home in the weeks leading up to the murder.

  Seth was a student in both classes that Eggers taught in the College’s electrical engineering program. Eggers followed Seth to the house on Hudson Street where she worked as a nanny. By intercepting the images on the Eldridges’ Nanny-cam, Eggers was able to determine when Seth was alone with the infant. Unaware that her professor posed a danger, Seth admitted him to the house, where he jammed the Nanny-cam and then strangled the young woman with a baby blanket.

  A background check of Eggers by Illuminada Guttierrez, PI revealed a pattern of sexual impropriety. In 1995 Eggers was accused of pursuing an “improper relationship” with a student at Wright College in Colorado and he faced a similar accusation in 1997 at Allendale Hills College in Minnesota. Neither student pressed charges, but in both cases Eggers was relieved of academic responsibility.

  When asked to comment on the charges against Eggers, RECC President Ron Woodman said, “I deeply regret that Ria Seth came to harm. However, this incident should not reflect badly on RECC faculty, who are professionals of exemplary character, truly beyond reproach.”

  When he had finished reading, Sol said, “Woodman must be frantic over this.”

  “Betty says he stayed home for two days with hives, and she had to get his doctor to increase his anti-anxiety meds,” I said, trying to make room in our overcrowded fridge for the leftover beef, onions, crudités, and couscous. “This time I can’t blame him. This deranged killer was teaching for RECC.”

  “Were you surprised that it wasn’t one of the Eldridges?” asked Sol. “You really seemed to think one of them had done it.”

  “Yes, at first I suspected that Torrence was guilty. I wondered about Davida, too. Then I saw how much they both cared about Skylar and how crazed they were trying to integrate parenting into their lifestyle. Underneath all their fancy furniture and electronic doodads they just seemed like two new parents short on sleep. Let me tell you, they were not happy when I quit, either. I didn’t give them much notice. But I did give them a piece of my mind,” I said with a chuckle. I made room in our overflowing pantry shelves for the unused paper plates and cups by wedging them under our Chanukah candles and birthday party decorations.

  “I wish I’d been a fly on the wall for that conversation,” said Sol.

  “You know, that’s the only house I’ve ever been in where they really had flies on the wall. Remember I told you he was an entomologist?” I giggled.

  “Seriously, Bel. What did you tell them?” One of the things I loved most about Sol was his persistence.

  “I just sat those two kids down and gave them a little motherly advice. I mean, they’re not my kids, so I didn’t have to self-censor, and they actually listened to me.”

  “Where do we keep this?” Sol asked, holding up a red-and-white-checked plastic picnic cloth. “I wiped it off,” he added, anticipating my question.

  “It goes in here,” I sighed, contemplating once again the chaotic pantry shelves. “Give it to me.” Taking the cloth, I stuffed it behind our stash of light bulbs. “I explained to the Eldridges that they should get to know their baby girl a little better and learn to enjoy her. I told them I thought they should sell that creepy mansion they live in and get a more modest place. They could live on one income if they had a smaller house and shopped a little less. If they both didn’t have to work so hard to pay bills, they could spend more time with Skylar and each other. I even suggested that Torrence take a sabbatical leave from the museum and become a Mr. Mom for a year. I told them they should find a way to relax and give that sweet baby some TLC.”

  “Wow. What did they say to all that?” Sol had stopped on his way to the yard with the trash.

  “Davida was crying and Torrence was rubbing her back. It was nice to see them touching. And Skylar was just adorable. I swear that baby gets more cuddly every day. But I didn’t think they’d take me seriously until tonight.”

  “Wait a minute. Tell me when I get back,” Sol called over his shoulder as he headed for the door to the stoop where we kept the trash between pickups.

  “So what makes you think those two super yuppies are going to change their lifestyle?” asked Sol, pouring us each a glass of cholesterol lowering red wine, collapsing onto the love seat, and patting the cushion next to him. I knew a good offer when I got it and sat down.

  “Betty said she and Vic passed the Eldridges’ house tonight on their way here, and there’s a ‘For Sale’ sign on it! I have to admit I’m pleased about that.” We clicked glasses. “To the Eldridges,” I said. “May they be a happy family.”

  “Okay, case closed,” said Sol, taking a sip of his wine. “Now what about this estrogen business that’s all over the papers? Have you heard that your precious patch may be part of the problem, not part of the solution? Now that school’s out, I want you to make an appointment to talk to Dr. Bodimeind. Promise?”

  I sighed. The thought of reading and struggling to interpret numerous polysyllabic and conflicting medical articles was daunting. But Dr. Bodimeind would expect me to be informed, would only act as a consultant on a decision that I would ultimately have to make. For a moment I yearned for the days when you went to the doctor, he (the doctor was always a he then) told you what you had and what to do about it, and, for better or worse, you did it. But Sol was right—I needed to consult my physici
an. Soon. So I answered, “Yes. I’ve got it at the top of my to-do list.”

  My reward was a one-armed hug. Then Sol put his wineglass down and turned my face to his. Looking at me carefully, he said, “You know, you look a little tired. You could use a vacation from your vacation. How about I go on-line tomorrow and find us a B&B somewhere for a few days? Just the two of us. No relatives, no papers to grade, and no murders. Think you could stand it?”

  “Try me,” I said.

  Tomcat

  Shirley Rousseau Murphy

  The disappearance of Rebecca Duncan, the week before her wedding, shook the town of Greeley like a tornado shakes a Georgia cabin, right down to its pinnings. Long before the Greeley paper was on the street, everyone knew that Rebecca had never come home from work on Thursday night, the word traveling door-to-door, phone-to-phone, and by the simple osmosis known only to the residents of a small and clannish community. A few old women passed along the word with a laugh and a wink, implying that Rebecca had run off on a lark before settling down to married life, the old gossips clucking and scowling fit to be tied. Well, Rebecca did have plenty of beaux before she got engaged to Tommie Glenn. But Rebecca’s friends knew she wasn’t out on some wild fling, not Rebecca Duncan, who went to church of a Sunday and was kind to old folks and babies and always ready to help a person; she wouldn’t just up and walk away, not when her and Tommie was so happy. Tommie’d already rented a little house, and Rebecca’d bought the goods for her wedding dress, that her aunt Belle was a-making up.

  Rebecca was only twenty-three, same age as Florie Mae Harkin, too young for bad things to happen. Rebecca and Florie Mae, and Martha Bliss, had all went through school together. Rebecca disappeared the same week that Florie Mae and Martha was trying to trap that big ole tomcat up around Harkin’s Feed and Garden. That animal was so big it looked like a bobcat, except it had a long, lashing tail. It was mean as a bobcat, but it weren’t no wild animal, weren’t a bit afraid of people. If it came in your yard it would glare at you and go right on stealing your baby chicks, pay you no mind at all until you taken a rock to it.