The girl smiled at her as if she’d been complimented. “I’m expressing my individualism. Like Emerson said, the American scholar should be an innovator not an imitator.”
“So you consider yourself a scholar?”
The features, slightly dreamy and disoriented, became animated. “Of course I am. I’m just misunderstood, like all true intellects. It’s nice to talk to someone older who doesn’t have a closed mind. I mean, there really is such a generation gap, don’t you think?”
Kim felt a tad guilty for considering the student something of an airhead by first appearances, which she realized were often deceiving.
One of the young male students came toward the girl with a cool appraising look. “Hey, Sandy, very trendy. I like all that frizz and frazzle. Hair with three different colors though? You keeping that look?”
“Sure, why not.” She threw him a self-satisfied smile. “Now I can have triple the attraction, triple the fun. I’m a trinity.” She gave a short laugh.
Jim joined them at that point. He looked anything but cheerful.
Sandy turned to him. “I’m sorry about your girlfriend. She seemed really nice.”
“Yeah, she was. Hell’s bells, I don’t know what I’m doing here today! I’m gonna see if I can still drop this course. I only took it to be with Lorette.”
He left abruptly, and Sandy turned to her. “Awfully studly, don’t you think?”
Kim didn’t respond; she hadn’t thought of Jim in that way.
Sandy continued. “It’s too bad about his girlfriend.”
“Was Dr. Packingham flirting with her?”
Sandy looked surprised, half-moon eyebrows rising. “Well, yeah, maybe. I mean he’s definitely a womanizer. You know the type, right? I saw him come on to her at Dr. Forbes’ house.”
Kim felt a sense of instant intense interest. What had Lorette been doing at Dr. Forbes’ house? “I don’t know very much about Dr. Forbes. He’s something of a mystery man, isn’t he?”
“Oh, you’ve probably heard the stories about him that circulate on campus.”
“When was Lorette at his house?”
Sandy’s light blue eyes were slightly out of focus, as though she’d been smoking a joint before class, but she seemed to be making an effort to concentrate. “I guess it was a week—no, two weeks ago. I’m not sure.”
“What was Lorette doing at Dr. Forbes’ house?”
“Oh, I guess what most people do when they’re invited there.” Sandy blinked several times.
“Why do I get the impression this isn’t leading anywhere?”
Sandy giggled. “It’s not a good idea to talk about Dr. Forbes. He doesn’t like it. You know what Ambrose Bierce said: speak of the devil and he’ll hear you.”
“Yes, but you told me yourself that you believe in nonconformity like Emerson.”
“That’s right. Truth with a capital T, and T for transcendentalist. That’s me.”
“So you were invited to Dr. Forbes’ house?”
Sandy lowered her eyes for the first time. “Well, not exactly. You see, my friend Nick brought me along. He didn’t think the old man would mind. But as it turned out, he kind of did and I got kicked out. Dr. Forbes picks and chooses who comes to his special gatherings. Big shot, you know.”
“What about Lorette?”
“No, Forbes welcomed her like she was someone he especially wanted there. I remember he called her a giraffe because she was so much taller than him. He was telling her how he had interpreted her handwriting and how well she was suited to his group.”
“What sort of group?”
She shook her head. “Nick’s pretty tight-lipped about that. If Forbes had let me stay, I might have found out.”
“Your friend Nick was invited?”
“Yeah, he’s one of the professor’s chosen. He makes out like it’s a real honor to be accepted. Only a select few ever are. You know the old man’s reputation as a literary scholar and critic, don’t you?”
“Only by hearsay.”
Sandy blew upward through her mouth, her feathered razor-cut bangs floating momentarily like fluffs of windblown dandelions.
“Gosh, I thought everybody in the grad program read his books. He’s like a genius. Me, I’d do anything to be part of his coterie.”
“Why is that, Sandy?”
Her eyes opened wide and glassy as those of a Barbie doll. Then she leaned toward Kim and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “Last time Nick was at one of those gatherings, he came to my place afterwards. It was awfully late and he was really high. They pass around some real quality stuff, you know?”
If Sandy was right, and there was no reason to doubt her veracity, the professor’s “chosen” were heavily into drugs. Lorette had been killed with an overdose of cocaine. Kim put little stock in coincidence. This was definitely something she ought to find out about.
Sandy leaned toward her, voice barely above a whisper. “You know what? Nick, he wouldn’t like me telling you this. I mean, you seem okay, but Nick doesn’t trust everybody. So don’t tell anyone else about the drugs. You won’t mention it, will you?”
“Only to the police,” she said.
Sandy smiled. “I like the way you joke around with a straight face. You know, you’d be real attractive if you wore some stylish clothes and did something with your hair. I could fix it for you.”
Kim shuddered involuntarily. “Maybe we can talk again and you can help me. Ask your friend about Dr. Forbes’ gatherings. I’m interested in mind-expanding experiences myself.”
“You are? Cool. Yeah, I could do that. See, I knew right away that you would understand. You got cow eyes. Lots of soul in cow eyes.”
Kim took Sandy’s phone number and told her that she would phone her soon.
Then Jim returned. “I can withdraw from the course. It’s not too late. I’m not stuck here.”
“Oh, that’s great,” Sandy said, looking less than pleased.
Professor Packingham finally decided to make his entrance. She thought he seemed preoccupied, his pinched features as pale and white as a peeled summer squash. Kim came toward him.
“Would it be possible for me to have a brief word with you before today’s class?”
“Hm? Well, yes I suppose. Although you might wish to set up an appointment instead.”
“I promise not to take much of your time.” She noticed that he and Jim exchanged glaring looks.
“Still around, Mr. Davis? I thought you might be home on the range by this time.”
Jim’s bulging biceps strained the material of his blue chambray shirt as his fists tensed in anger.
“Are you planning to withdraw from this course perhaps?” The professor looked hopeful.
“You got it. Just one thing, if I ever find out that you had anything to do with Lorette’s death, I’ll personally kick your sorry butt all the way back to England.”
Packingham registered surprise and then indignation. His pale features reddened. “Get out of here!”
Jim turned and abruptly left, his eyes dark as storm clouds.
“I plan on a short class today,” he told the group at large as everyone gathered around him in the seminar room. “I’m afraid I haven’t been able to do the sort of preparation required. I’ve had things on my mind the last few days. As to Ms. Campbell’s recent demise, it’s a bloody shame. I’m certain we all regret the loss of her presence on this earth.”
Kim realized that this was not an appropriate time to discuss Lorette’s death with the professor. She left quietly, uncertain what she would have asked him if they had spoken. And because of the conversation with Sandy, her mental exploration had taken a different turn.
Maybe Dr. Forbes had something to do with Lorette’s death. But besides the fact that Lorette had a class with the well-known scholar and had admired him, there was no reason to believe the association had become personal. Still, from what Sandy told her, Lorette was one of Forbes’ chosen—whatever that meant. Why hadn’t
Lorette told her about that?
When her shift at the library resumed, Kim waited for a free moment to check the on-line computer catalog for a listing of Forbes’ writings. It turned out that he was a prolific author. Most of his books were not in the stacks, as she would have expected. His work was in demand. She found articles in the bound periodicals located in the basement and photocopied some of them to peruse at her leisure.
Wendell eyed her askance as she resumed her post at the reference desk. “You’ve been gone a while,” he said. “What were you doing?”
“Some work for a patron,” she said, still a little breathless from her quick trip up the stairs. She quickly folded the photocopies so he couldn’t read them.
“Which patron?” he asked suspiciously. He was a bulldog following the scent of mendacity.
“One of the English grad students. I promised her several days ago that I’d find certain information for her. In fact, she was the party who asked about inferno collections.”
“I thought you told me it was an MLS candidate who was looking for that information.” His eyes narrowed. Clearly, he did not believe her. Wendell never missed anything, it seemed. But then she was a terrible liar, which was one reason she rarely digressed from the truth.
“Actually, we’ve had two separate requests. Are you sure we don’t have information here at the university? Perhaps there’s someone else who might know if we have an inferno collection, someone at the library of science or art and music?”
Behind his thick glasses, Wendell’s eyes were mere slits. “Ms. Reynolds, I have given you all the information that exists. Now stay at this desk where you belong and help our patrons. There are many librarians who would give a great deal to have your job.” That sounded to her very much like a threat.
He stormed off, back stiff as a broomstick, sharp nose held high. She sighed deeply. Watch what you say to that man. Handle him as you would a cobra. She wondered if somewhere within her was a desire for self-annihilation. God, she hated to think it. But why had she asked Wendell about the inferno collection again when she knew perfectly well that references to inferno collections irritated him? And she hadn’t gotten a bit closer to learning anything; that was the worst part. She did need her position at the library. Being fired would not be the best job recommendation. Sometimes, she didn’t understand herself. Obviously, she didn’t understand Wendell either.
Kim didn’t look at the articles she’d photocopied until arriving home that evening. Because it was past the rush hour, traffic flowed like water. Once she was away from the library, she was able to relax. Driving along listening to music loosened the tightness she’d been feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Sitting down on the couch in her apartment, Kim kicked off her shoes with a sense of relief and immediately reached for the photocopies. Forbes had written some interesting articles for scholarly journals. There was a unique interpretation of Lord of the Flies she found intellectually stimulating. Another article examined occult elements in the modern novel.
Her thoughts kept meandering back to Sandy and what she’d said about Professor Forbes. Sandy gave the impression of being a bubble-gum brain, but she was foolish, not stupid. If Sandy thought there was something peculiar about Forbes, it was likely to be the case. Hadn’t she sensed it herself? What had he involved Lorette in? If it were some sort of experimenting with drugs, Lorette would never have stood still for it. Kim was sure of that. Perhaps Lorette had threatened to expose his coterie? It could be a motive for murder.
She wanted to talk with Forbes, but not before at least reading some more of what he wrote. She knew very little about the man except that he had the reputation of possessing a rapier tongue; she had no desire for sharp thrusts in her direction. Before she spoke to him, she must be prepared. Knowing his work would afford some form of protection. She could stand up for her beliefs and had done so in the past, but she knew the cost. She wished she had more poise and self-confidence. Nothing, it seemed, ever came easily to her.
An idea occurred and she determined to act on it. She fished in her pocket and found Sandy’s phone number and dialed it. The phone rang several times before an answering machine picked up. Kim left her name and number and asked that the girl phone her back when she got in. She was rewarded by a return call a half-hour later. Kim identified herself in case Sandy had forgotten who she was.
“Yeah, I remember you. Lorette’s friend. You were smart not to stay for the class. He wasn’t very good today. Not prepared. Dead boring. He said a few words about Lorette though.”
“Did he?”
“Yeah, he expressed his sorrow and regrets. It seemed genuine, like he really cared about her.”
“I believe he said that before I left.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right.”
“The reason for my call, I was wondering if you could give me your friend Nick’s last name and phone number.”
There was a silence at the other end.
“Sandy?”
“Why would you want to know?” She was definitely nervous, perhaps a little suspicious.
“I’d like to talk with him about the night Lorette visited Dr. Forbes’ house.”
“I told you about that. He wouldn’t know any more. Hey, are you a cop or something? Undercover narc maybe?”
“Of course not. You did say there was good stuff at those gatherings. I just wanted to find out more about it.”
“You don’t look the type.”
“There is no type. Is Nick your boyfriend?” She wanted to keep the girl talking.
“Sort of—but not exactly. I mean, Nick and I go back a long way. We were both at Berkeley together. He helped edit our underground poetry magazine. He wouldn’t like me discussing Dr. Forbes. Thinks he’s God, you know?”
“Keep my name and number, and if you have anything you do want to tell me, let me know. You might be helping to find out who killed Lorette.”
“She was killed?” Sandy sounded very upset.
“That’s right.”
Sandy wouldn’t talk anymore, and the conversation ended abruptly.
Kim realized it was getting late and she ought to eat, even if she wasn’t exactly hungry. She’d forgotten to stop for groceries, her thoughts too filled with how to go about solving the mystery of Lorette’s death. She wanted to make a sandwich, but what bread remained looked as if it would yield a bumper crop of penicillin. She rummaged through the cabinet and located a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup, which only made her think of Lorette again.
The phone began to ring as she poured water from the can into the heating soup. Stirring quickly, she left the pot on a small flame and hurried to pick up the phone on the third ring.
“I’m glad I caught you at home.”
She recognized Don Bernard’s mellifluous voice immediately and smiled. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever want to talk to me again.”
“Because you weren’t seduced by my incredible charm and sex appeal?” His tone was light and teasing. Apparently, he wasn’t angry at her.
“So your ego is not overly fragile. I’m glad to know that.”
“I just called to find out how you are. I heard about Lorette, and I assumed you were upset.” He sounded warm and caring.
“I am upset. I think someone murdered her.”
There was a slight pause, as if the idea shocked him. “Surely not.”
“She wouldn’t commit suicide.”
“No, I agree with you on that. However, it could have been accidental.”
“Lorette might have used drugs years ago, but she was strictly off them.”
“How can you ever be sure of something like that?”
“You sound like the policeman who questioned me. He doesn’t seem to think it was murder either.”
“Well, if a professional thinks that way…”
“No, I think she was a lot stronger and more resourceful than she appeared to be. Lorette died neither accidentally nor by suicide. I’m positive.”
“You’re a loyal friend, but much too stubborn.”
“I’m convinced. In fact, I’ve been asking around, seeing what I can find out. I intend to get a line on who killed Lorette.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing you correctly. Leave that job to the police.” It seemed she couldn’t have appalled him more if she confessed to being a murderer herself.
“I’m just asking a few people some questions.”
“Don’t put yourself in jeopardy.”
She wanted to ask him about his relationship with Lorette, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. The conversation ended and she went back to pensively stirring her soup. Whatever Lorette had once meant to Don, Kim really didn’t want to know the details. Yet she recognized most definitely there had been something between them and it ended badly. Could Don also have wished Lorette harm—or more to the point, done something to hasten her demise? A deep sigh escaped Kim. So much for being a relentless detective in search of truth.
NINE
After eating dinner that evening, Kim had a thought. Although according to Lorette she and her mother had been less than close, Lorette’s last phone call was from Miranda’s place. Lorette was upset, frightened and worried. At a time like that, surely it was quite possible she would have confided in her mother. Kim checked her work schedule, found that she would be off the next day, and called Miranda. Lorette’s mother, formal but courteous, agreed to meet with her late the following afternoon.
Kim slept poorly, her dreams reliving the moment when she’d discovered Lorette’s body. In the dreams, Lorette was a lovely statue, her humanity stripped away, a work of art carved out of white marble. Then the statue came to life.
“Help me!” Lorette cried out. “You’re the only one who can!”
Kim woke shaken and perspiring. Had it been a dream or a vision? Had Lorette’s ghost come to haunt her? It was hours before she could sleep again.
In the morning, Kim did some marketing and cleaned her apartment. These practical activities kept her from feeling emotionally upset. She left to drive south on the early side, tense about talking with Miranda. The highway was not crowded; she enjoyed the sight and scent of pine forest and the occasional glimpse of deer. The directions were good and she had no trouble finding the duplex dwelling.
The Inferno Collection Page 8