by R. L. King
She pointed past him at a hallway. “We have photos of many of our former faculty on the wall there—you might find him among them. I’m not sure, since I’ve never looked all that closely at them.”
“Thank you.” Stone glanced at his watch—he’d need to get moving if he wanted to make it to class on time, but he could spare a couple of minutes to scan the photos.
It was a long hallway and there were a lot of framed images hanging along both sides, arranged in chronological order with black-and-white photos from the early part of the twentieth century at the far ends, and more recent ones closer to the lobby. He let his gaze trail along them, checking first the ones from the Fifties. When he found nothing there, he edged along through the Sixties.
He found what he was looking for on the bottom row: the same kindly eyes regarding him from a face that looked a good deal less buttoned-down than the neat, suit-clad man he’d seen in the newspaper clipping. In this faded photo, Dr. Thaddeus Benchley was clad in a dark green sport jacket with wide lapels, an open-collared pale green shirt, and gold, wire-rimmed glasses. His hair, gray now, looked as if he’d forced it into reluctant submission for the photo shoot, and he’d gained a comfortable amount of weight. Overall, the man had the merry look of barely leashed mischief that Stone was all too familiar with in some older professors who no longer cared much what the Establishment thought of them. He suspected his students probably liked him, and that every now and then he’d given demos that probably weren’t fully University-approved.
“Hello, Dr. Benchley,” he murmured. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Don’t you worry—we’ll sort out what you’re trying to tell me soon enough.”
9
Stone made a quick stop at his office following his class. His intent was to grab a quick lunch and head to the library to look at back issues of the Daily, but he changed his mind when he saw Marciella Garra striding past his doorway toward her own office.
Something about the woman still intrigued him. Because he couldn’t put his finger on why, she’d occupied a disproportionately large percentage of his thoughts—at least the ones that weren’t trying to figure out what was up with his new spectral housemate.
As he vacillated over whether to go talk to her, he thought about what Verity had teasingly said the other night. Was he attracted to her? It certainly made sense. She was his type: dark-haired, athletic, sensual, confident, and smart as hell. Could that be all it was—a misplaced physical response, tempered by guilt?
Even though Verity had assured him that not only was she fine with both of them seeing other people but she actively encouraged it, Stone wasn’t so easy to convince. Not for himself, at least. Perhaps he was more old-school than he thought. He’d never been the jealous type—Verity’s relationship with Kyla, which seemed to be growing increasingly closer, didn’t disturb him in the slightest. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel if she decided to start seeing another man, but he’d cross that bridge if and when he came to it. He doubted it would, though. He knew she’d dated other men in the past; they’d even discussed it one night after a few too many glasses of wine. But unlike her relationships with women, none of the men had made it much past the one-night-stand stage.
None except him, anyway. He supposed he could take that as encouraging.
In any case, he had no intention of pursuing a relationship with Marciella Garra. Even if he weren’t seeing Verity, workplace dalliances—especially with someone in one’s own department—rarely led to positive outcomes. It had never been a problem before, since Edwina Mortenson had been far too old for him and about as far from his type as it was possible to get while still being female. Hell, he’d met men he was more sexually attracted to than Mortenson, rest her soul.
But now, with Garra, he wasn’t so sure.
He couldn’t read her signals—which, on further reflection, was probably a big part of what subconsciously bothered him. One of the things that had kept him relatively unscathed in the romantic arena over the years, despite his frequent and enthusiastic participation, was his skill in reading auras. It was a lot easier to disengage from a failing relationship when you could spot the signs before she even realized something was wrong—not to mention having visible auric proof that a potential sexual partner was willing and enthusiastic. It wasn’t always easy to offer a cheerful “Good night” and perhaps a chaste kiss when he’d had something more in mind—but a cold shower was a lot safer than pushing things when her aura clearly showed she wasn’t on board with the night’s potential festivities. It was probably why his track record of remaining on good terms with his ex-girlfriends was as consistent as the relationships’ inevitable failures once they discovered the charming Brit in the long black coat came with some pretty strange baggage.
None of that mattered now, though. He wanted to chat with Garra, not ask her out, and if he didn’t get on with it soon she’d head out again and he’d have to wait. He got up and strode down the hall.
She was still there, sitting at her desk and jotting something on a notepad. Stone was about to knock softly on the doorframe when she spoke without looking up. “Hello, Dr. Stone. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Er—” he said, startled. He didn’t think he’d made any noise on his approach. “Sorry—didn’t mean to disturb you.”
She put her pen aside and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “You’re not disturbing me. I was just making a few notes about my last class before I went to lunch.”
“Ah. Speaking of, would you care to join me? I’m sure you haven’t had a chance to sample all the little places around campus. I could show you some of the hidden gems.”
Her gaze flicked up and she gave him a cool once-over, almost as if trying to gauge his intentions.
“No ulterior motives,” he assured her. “I promise. We haven’t had much chance to chat yet, and I thought I could answer any questions you might have about the campus or the area.”
She smiled. “All right, then. Thank you, Dr. Stone. I’d like that.” She finished her notes, put the pad away in a drawer, and picked up her bag.
“So,” he said when they’d left the building, “what do you like? We’ve got quite a selection of places here on campus, including vegetarian if that’s what you prefer.”
She chuckled. “No, I’m definitely not a vegetarian. More of a carnivore, really.”
“Brilliant—fine with me either way. I’ve got a bit of a reputation for being willing to try anything once.”
She cast a quick, sharp glance his way, then smiled. “Why don’t you surprise me, then? Show me one of these ‘hidden gems.’”
“Challenge accepted. Do you mind a bit of a walk?”
“I hope not. It seems like everything is a bit of a walk from our offices.”
“That’s true—our department definitely didn’t get first choice when they were handing out space.”
“It’s all right, though. I like a little exercise.”
She certainly looked as if she did. Today, she wore a fashionable but professional black skirt suit with a silky golden-yellow blouse, and although Stone wasn’t specifically looking at them, he couldn’t miss the toned muscles in her tanned calves. Without a doubt she spent some serious time keeping in shape.
He took her to a small eatery frequented mostly by faculty, away from the more bustling places usually packed with undergraduates. They placed their orders and managed to find a table even at the height of the lunch rush.
“So,” Stone said, watching her tuck into her beef bourguignon. “How are you settling in? We haven’t had much chance to chat since you started. Is Laura taking care of you?”
“Oh, yes, she’s wonderful.” She looked around. “It’s definitely larger here than I’m used to—this is my first teaching position, but the university I attended was much smaller.”
“Are the students treating you well? They can be a bit of a handful, but they’re a good lot for the most part.”
She smiled. “S
o far everything’s been fine.”
It seemed as if she’d been on the verge of saying something else. Stone waited, and when she didn’t, he said, “But…?”
She looked startled, then chuckled. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. Occupational hazard, I’m sure.”
“What’s that? If something’s wrong, I’m sure we can—”
Her gaze focused on him, and something in it changed. “I think it’s a problem you might be familiar with as well, actually.”
“Oh?”
She hesitated, but when she spoke again she seemed more amused than bothered. “Some of the students are…a little more attentive than I prefer.”
“Ah.” That didn’t surprise him in the slightest—in fact, he’d wondered if she might have trouble with it, and he didn’t try to deny that he did sometimes as well. It was one of those things you got used to as a younger professor who was even marginally attractive: students lingering after class, coming by the office for unnecessary meetings, and paying far more attention to lectures than you could attribute to your scintillating speaking style. Stone had weathered more than one crush—mostly from female students, fewer from males—handling them with cheerful deflection until the student eventually got the idea and moved on. With Garra, though, given that young heterosexual males tended on average to be more pushy, he didn’t envy her position. “They’re not bothering you, are they? If they are—”
“Oh, no.” Her smile widened and grew just a little bit predatory. “I can handle them. I’ve just been told I come on a bit strong, and I don’t want to offend anyone when I’ve only been here a short time.”
“If they bother you, don’t worry about offending them. They’re asking for it. As I said, they’re a good lot, but sometimes you have to show them the way things are. If you need me to have a chat with anyone, let me know.”
“No, no. I don’t need rescuing. Thanks for the offer, though. I appreciate it. I’ll be fine.” Once again, her gaze changed. “I don’t think I’ll have much trouble letting people know I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”
Ouch. Direct hit, right between the eyes. If Stone had harbored any hopes in that direction, they’d just been turned aside with a skillfulness he couldn’t help admiring. He suspected this was by no means the first time she’d had to do it.
“Right, then,” he said briskly. “Have you had a chance to look around the area at all? There’s quite a lot to do, especially if you’re willing to range out a bit. Parks, theater, nightclubs, museums—you really must visit the Rosicrucian Museum in San Jose, and don’t miss the Winchester Mystery House. It’s quite touristy, but still fascinating for anyone in our line of work.”
“I’ve heard that. I’ll have to check it out.”
Stone focused on eating for a few moments, trying to decide if he wanted to ask the thing that was truly on his mind, or if it might be better to just let it go. As usual, his curiosity won out—if she didn’t want to answer, she didn’t seem shy about telling him. “So—did you get a chance to take a look at those books I dropped by for you?”
“Just a little. I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a lot of time for side projects. Is it all right if I keep them a while longer?”
“Oh, keep them as long as you like.” He paused. “Forgive me for being nosy, but I couldn’t help noticing when I was in your office that you seem interested in antiques.”
She looked briefly confused, then brightened. “Oh—yes. You saw my list. Nothing to hide there—I’ve always been interested in old things, especially ones rumored to have some kind of occult significance. I’m sure you understand, given some of the things I’ve seen on your office shelves.”
“Oh, absolutely. I’m a bit of a collector myself.”
“Mostly I focus on South American artifacts, but whenever I travel I always make it a point to see if I can find any interesting local pieces. I was making a list of places to check out.”
“I can probably add to your list, if you like—more so if you’re willing to go a little farther away. Also, I can save you some time. I recognized one of the numbers you had—Huan’s Antiquities. Normally I’d recommend it highly. She has some fascinating pieces, especially if she knows you, but her shop’s closed indefinitely. She’s out of the country.”
“Oh, really? That’s a shame.”
He chuckled. “Madame Huan is one of the most intriguing people I know. She runs the shop because she loves antiques, not because she needs the money. But she also spends more time traveling around looking for new acquisitions than she does actually running the place.” He didn’t mention that she had two other shops, one in London and one somewhere in China. He had a strong suspicion, though he’d never asked and Madame Huan had never volunteered the information, that she had a dedicated private portal set up between the three shops.
“She sounds like someone I’d love to meet. If she comes back while I’m still here, maybe you could introduce us.”
“I’d be delighted.” He sipped his pint. “Are you planning to stay past the fall quarter? Or is it too early to make that sort of decision yet?”
“I don’t know. I suppose it’s not completely up to me, of course—I’m aware I’m being evaluated.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. The students seem to like you already, and I’m sure Dr. Martinez will be impressed with the new focus you’re bringing to the curriculum. We tend to be a bit Eurocentric in our approach here, so some new areas are certain to go over well.”
“Well, we’ll see,” she said. “I do like the students, and it’s a beautiful area, but I’m used to something a bit less…populous. I’m not sure how well I’ll adjust to living somewhere with this many people.”
“Fair enough. There are areas that are less so, but it can get fairly pricey if you want anything close to campus. It’s one of the few disadvantages of the area, especially if you haven’t lived here for years: the cost of living’s a bit frightening. We’ve lost good candidates in the past to other universities in less expensive areas.”
“It is a factor,” she admitted. She set her fork down and blotted her lips with her napkin. “Anyway—I should probably get going. I’ve got a class in half an hour and I need to grab something from my office first. Thank you so much for lunch, Dr. Stone.”
“My pleasure. And as I said, feel free to ask if you have any questions about the area.”
“I will.” She started to rise, then paused. “Oh—before I go—are you going to Dr. Hubbard’s party on Thursday night? He invited me, but—” For the first time, she seemed hesitant.
“I am, yes. It’s just a little get-together his wife’s hosting to celebrate his finally finding a publisher for one of his horror novels. He’s been writing them ever since I’ve known him, and this is the first time he’s sold one. It won’t be large—I don’t think old Hubbard has enough friends to manage a big party.”
She brightened, looking relieved. “All right, then, I suppose I’ll go.”
“Brilliant. I’ll see you there.”
10
Between classes, meetings, and calling his lawyer about setting up the details of his investment in Jason’s agency, Stone didn’t make it to the library until later that afternoon. It didn’t take him long to find the information he was looking for, though, once he located the back issues of the Daily: Dr. Thaddeus Benchley of the Chemistry department had died in the spring of 1974, while still employed by the University. According to the article, he’d been sixty-six years old at the time of his death, which had occurred in his home. A subsequent article a few days later mentioned that his funeral was well attended—he’d apparently been a popular professor—and the following day the paper printed a small puff piece about him, including fond quotes from several of his current and former graduate students. Accompanying the article was a copy of the photo Stone had seen in the Chemistry office, as well as two informal snapshots: one showing him standing behind some elaborate chemical apparatus in his lab with students g
athered around, and one of him sitting in a chair with a large cat in his lap.
Stone found Benchley’s obituary in the Mercury News. It stated that the professor had died of natural causes and would be buried next to his wife, who’d predeceased him by two years, in a small cemetery in Palo Alto. In lieu of flowers, donations were requested to several progressive and anti-war organizations.
Doesn’t sound like anything suspicious, he thought as he put the microfilm spools away. A lot of people, especially academics, had been active in the anti-war movement in the Seventies. From everything Stone had read, Professor Thaddeus Benchley sounded like the classic older professor: brilliant, a little dotty, beloved of his students. He couldn’t be sure, of course, with nothing but a few brief articles and photographs to go on, but at least on the surface Benchley didn’t come across as a candidate for any sort of violent or suspicious death.
If that was so, though, why had his echo lingered around the house for all these years, even after others had occupied it? It was possible the place was somewhere Benchley had felt safe and comfortable—that did happen, but not often and usually not in rented houses. Hell, if the man’s echo was going to hang about because it had nothing better to do, it made more sense that he’d do it here on campus.
Jason and Verity came to the house that evening for dinner. Verity had called him on his mobile and offered to cook if he picked up a few items on the way home. “I have ulterior motives,” she said, her grin coming clearly through in her voice. “I want to talk to your haunted cat.”
They were already at the house when he arrived, waiting in Jason’s red Mustang. He waved as he passed them and pulled the BMW into the garage. “Sorry I’m late,” he told them, pulling the bags from the trunk. “Surprisingly, the commute from here to Stanford normally takes less time than the one in Palo Alto, even though the old place was closer. Got stuck in traffic on the way back from the market, though.”