Miranda appeared to be waiting for her, answering the doorbell with alacrity. “Come in, won’t you?”
She looked unwell, her face pale, eyes puffy and slightly reddened. “You’re welcome here, but since Lorette is gone, I don’t know what we have to talk about.”
Kim conceded a strong element of truth in what Miranda said. “There are certain things about Lorette’s death that don’t make sense.”
Miranda showed her into a neat, uncluttered living room. Kim took a straight-back chair, sitting opposite the older woman.
“Nothing about her death makes any sense. A policeman phoned, the one who called me originally. He believes Lorette’s death was accidental.”
“I don’t. Something was bothering her. She was frightened. Did she happen to talk to you about it?”
The tall, imposing woman straightened in her chair. “My daughter did not often confide in me.”
“But she must have said something.”
Miranda looked down, her fingers playing absently with the cameo brooch that adorned her snowy blouse. “Lorette and I spent many years apart. I sent her away to boarding school when she was fourteen. She considered it the worst sort of betrayal. I always loved her, but she didn’t see it that way. I was a widow with two children. My son was a sophomore in college and was already pretty much on his own when I met Harold. He loved me and wanted to marry me, but he had been a bachelor all his life. Harold was not comfortable around children.
“I think Lorette was a little jealous of our relationship. In any case, she and Harold didn’t hit it off. He didn’t want her around. The marriage was just beginning, and I thought it was best for all concerned if she went away to school. She never forgave me. She felt I’d chosen him over her. She never trusted me again. As it happened, the marriage did not work out anyway. By the time Lorette was a junior in college, I was divorced. But things were never the same between us.”
“What happened to Lorette?”
“That boarding school…it was a fine place, or so I thought. Very exclusive. Usually only the children of the wealthy go there. Harold was very generous to pay for it.”
“Her drug problem started there?”
Miranda put her face in her hands, lowering her head. “Yes, there were drinking and drug parties among those girls. Who would think wealthy children would be so wild?”
“You can’t equate money with morality.”
“I suppose not. I found out what was happening when she was put on probation. She wouldn’t talk to me. Like a stone wall she was. But she did stop, or at least I thought so, because there weren’t any more bad reports from the school. In college, though, it happened all over again. She was away in Boston and I rarely saw her. She even stayed up there during the summers. I think she was under a lot of stress.
“I got a phone call from a hospital. She nearly died then. But they were very good with her, the doctors and nurses. She went into a drug-rehab program. I saw a real improvement after that. For a while, she was emaciated and weak, but she had spirit. She lost a year of school but went back and made it up. She told me that it had started when she went to the boarding school, because she was shy around those fancy girls from their privileged backgrounds and drinking gave her confidence. She promised never to take any drugs or alcohol again. She didn’t want to destroy her life. I believed her. Lorette was strong-willed. Once she set her mind to something, she saw it through. Still, she had been under stress again.”
“I don’t think she changed her mind.”
“But the police, wouldn’t they know?”
“Not always. They see whatever is most probable, and mostly that’s right. But they’re not right about Lorette. Like the great bard said, appearances are deceiving.”
A mist appeared over Miranda’s eyes. “At least she had you, one real friend. She told me how supportive you were.”
Kim felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach; she hadn’t been that terrific a friend, at least not enough of one to make a difference. “Jim Davis cared about her too.”
“That young man who came to the funeral? I think she changed her mind about him.”
“Do you know why?”
Miranda shook her head, the iron-gray hair unmoving. “No idea. He seemed very nice. Lorette was odd about men though. She didn’t always love wisely. She always tried to excite the admiration of men. Her father meant a great deal to her. She took his death very badly. She was his favorite. She needed that special kind of relationship and looked for it in every man she met. I suppose it won’t matter now if I tell you about her. After she graduated from college, Lorette had a very good job with a big company in New York. She left because she got involved with her boss. They had an affair and she got pregnant. He was married, but wouldn’t leave his wife. It ended up that she got an abortion. Afterwards, she couldn’t stand to work there anymore. She felt very bitter. That was when she made the decision to go back to graduate school. She was very pleased when they offered her the teaching assistantship. Of course, I helped her out financially. I was happy for her. She was very ambitious and really loved college teaching, claimed it gave her a natural high. It would have been the perfect career for her.”
“Did you ever discuss current men in her life?”
“No. As I told you, Lorette was short on trust. She did not confide in me. I only knew about her abortion because she was sick afterwards and had to come home for a time.”
“I’m certain she appreciated what you tried to do for her.”
Miranda smiled ruefully. “You are a very kind person. I appreciate you trying to find out what happened to Lorette. I don’t want people referring to her as a drug addict. And like you, I don’t believe she was one—at least, I don’t want to believe it. I’ll help in any way I can to clear her reputation.” Miranda’s fingers trembled as she moved her cameo first left and then right. “I just thought of something that might prove she didn’t commit suicide.”
Kim felt a sudden surge of excitement. “What is it?”
“Well, she left some library books here. I know that doesn’t sound important on the surface, but what she said might matter.”
“Which was?”
“That she’d be back on the weekend. She said she wanted to do some writing there in her old room where she wouldn’t be disturbed. She was working on an article for a journal and hoped to get it published.”
“Can I see the books? I’ll bring them back to the library for you.”
Kim followed Miranda into the bedroom that had once belonged to Lorette. There was nothing much to indicate a beautiful, intelligent girl had once lived here. The white, French provincial furniture was far from new, but kept immaculate, probably dating from before Lorette had left for boarding school. On the desk were several books on Satanism and the occult.
“Any idea what she was writing on this subject?”
“I haven’t got a clue. I never knew Lorette to have much interest in the occult. She did talk about doing a paper for a colloquium though. She mentioned considering a new subject. I don’t know anything about it, really.”
Kim placed the three books in the trunk of her car and parted with Miranda on friendly terms. She hadn’t really learned anything new or gained insight into what happened to her friend, but there were no regrets for time wasted. Kim now knew more about Lorette’s past. That might prove helpful.
It had grown dark as she drove home. There was a sense of peace in watching the twilight, a velvet and lilac sky with a sash of pink satin swirling around it, like an old-fashioned party dress. It saddened her to think that Lorette would never again have the pleasure of seeing such a sight. How much easier it would be if she could still believe in the immortality of the soul, as she did as a child. To think of death as total and final was painful and tragic. She left Lorette’s library books locked in the trunk of her car, went into her apartment and fixed herself a salad plate topped with cottage cheese, all the while lost in thought. She found little appetite for her
creation.
She didn’t sleep well that night either, tossing and turning until well past two in the morning. After that she rested fitfully, her sleep dominated by strange dreams. Lorette was being chased through the forest by a creature half-human, half-monster, something from a bad horror movie. Just as the demon caught up with Lorette, a transformation occurred. Lorette became her, only not Kim Reynolds but Karen Reyner. She woke up sweating, her flannel gown damp. She should have been able to laugh off the absurd nightmare, but she couldn’t. That was the end of her sleep for the night.
The telephone rang early, before she was ready to leave for work. The voice at the other end had a hesitant quality.
“Is this Kim Reynolds?”
She indicated that it was.
“Well, this is Sandy.”
Kim waited, not sure what to say. There was a pause at the other end.
“I found out something last night. I thought you might want to know.”
Kim caught her breath and tried not to sound too interested. “What’s that?”
“Well, I can’t exactly talk right now.”
“Why not?”
“I got something to do, somebody to see.” She was infuriatingly vague.
“I could meet you later.”
“No, my schedule today is totally unreal.”
“Okay, what about tomorrow?”
“Yeah, you could drop by here around noon. I’m free lunchtime.”
“Fine, and lunch will be on me.”
“No, that’s okay. I’m not trying to bum a free meal.”
“You’re doing me the favor,” Kim insisted. She took down Sandy’s address and directions.
For a time after the call, she stood wondering what Sandy could possibly have to tell her, then finally gave up and got ready for work. She didn’t think of anything but her job for the next few hours. There was a flurry of requests for interlibrary loans and graduate library school students were in doing a reference exercise. Although she was expressly told not to lead them to the answers, the students asked many questions which she endeavored to answer appropriately. It hadn’t been so long ago since she’d been in their shoes, and she remembered very well what it felt like.
At lunchtime, she had an hour and decided to take a walk around Kinley Hall. The custodian she’d seen on her previous visit said hello to her as if they were old friends.
“Dr. Forbes is around today,” he said. He gave her a smile and a wink. “If you need any more information, just ask me.” Then he progressed down the hall in squeaky shoes whistling off-key.
Dr. Forbes was coming down the corridor. “Frank,” he called to the custodian. “I’d like you to clean for me again this weekend. Sunday afternoon all right with you?”
“Sure.” Frank gave him the full benefit of his crooked smile.
“How is life treating you?”
“Just fine, Professor.”
Forbes’ cobalt eyes twinkled brilliantly, like a lake in winter. “I’m glad to hear that you are doing well, Frank. We are brothers, you and I.”
“Jeez, I can never tell when you’re kidding or not.”
She watched the two diminutive men standing together. They were almost of the same height, and she remembered what the custodian had said about Dr. Forbes liking him because he was not taller than the professor.
What sort of interest had Forbes taken in Lorette? Obviously, he’d been intrigued by her, as he was by tall women in general. How would he have reacted if she rejected him? Kim sighed deeply, aware that these idle thoughts were nothing more than pure speculation.
Dr. Barnes was meeting with his Bible as Literature class. She was hungry, but thought the class would be ending soon. Lorette had known Dr. Barnes, too. Maybe Kim could wait until the class ended and have a word with him. She seated herself unobtrusively in the rear of the classroom. The professor’s voice filled the room with its power and resonance. It wasn’t hard to imagine him in front of a congregation of parishioners. He stood austere and dominating in a black suit, his eyes bright. It was only the way he stared at the young women with shapely legs that undercut his credibility.
“Part of our text for today in the Old Testament relates to Zephaniah. Those of you who have been reading along with the assignments will note that the theme of this section is consistent with that of the Old Testament in general. As you may recall, the word of the Lord is spoken through Zephaniah. And the word is anger, vengeance. Observe: ‘I will utterly consume all things/From off the face of the earth, Sayeth the Lord.’ Why, my head gets dizzy and begins to swim and my heart thumps and positively skips a beat when I read those stirring words!” His voice gained in momentum and intensity.
A hand shot up; a bearded young man who reminded her vaguely of a tawny lion was grudgingly given the nod.
“I would have to question whether the tone of the Old Testament is predominantly angry and wrathful.”
“Well, of course, it is. One has to read very little to see that man’s initial disobedience provoked the Almighty’s wrath.” The professor’s outrage sounded pompous and self-righteous to Kim’s ears.
Dr. Barnes returned to sermonizing. He ran over the allotted time, his words little more than rhetoric, as if he loved to hear himself talk. He spoke of how the ancient Greeks warned against the sin of too much pride, or hubris. Kim could not help but consider his comment ironically apt, since it could be applied to him. He appeared to suffer from diarrhea of the mouth and constipation of the brain. He was frowning deeply as the class concluded and Kim came forward to speak to him.
“Dr. Barnes, may I have a word with you about Lorette Campbell?”
He looked surprised. “Ms. Campbell? Her death is a dreadful loss. But what is there to discuss?”
“She was a friend of mine. She said something to me about seeing you regarding a paper she was writing?”
He did not answer immediately, and studied her as if trying to take her measure. “Of what significance is that now?” he said irritably.
Nervous as he made her feel, she had no intention of allowing him to intimidate her with his temper. “There were some books on satanism in Lorette’s possession at the time of her death. Was she doing a paper related to that, and were you helping her with it?”
“That was not the topic under consideration.”
“You do teach religion as it relates to literature.”
“If she planned on writing about such a topic, she had not as yet discussed it with me. You are most probably aware that Lorette had a gift for critical writing. I did offer to help her write a publishable paper. I wished to nurture her abilities. But we were only in the talking stage so far. She may have found someone else to help her. I couldn’t say. She’d become rather distant of late.”
Kim noticed that he was perspiring and wondered about it. There was a feeling, a gut feeling, that he was not being totally truthful with her. What would he have to hide or lie about?
“You’ll have to excuse me. I’m late for a luncheon appointment.” He licked dry lips and was off, leaving her to stare after him and conjecture. She thought about the way he had looked at the legs of those pretty, young things in the front row. Had he been trying to nurture more than Lorette’s writing abilities? Just how much might he have resented her rejection?
TEN
Sandy was not at her apartment at noon the next day, but her roommate was. They lived over a flower shop on Tremont Avenue, about a quarter mile from the main campus. Kim introduced herself politely to the roommate and was invited to come inside.
“Do you have any idea when Sandy will be back?”
The girl shook her head, a mop of unruly auburn curls falling into her eyes. “Haven’t seen her.”
“Since when?”
The roommate was thoughtful. “Well, she wasn’t here last night because the rat was squealing and I had to feed it myself.”
“The rat?”
She indicated a small cage with what looked like a guinea pig in it.
Kim got closer and immediately regretted it. Even a person with impaired sinuses would have been knocked over by the odor. The roommate took a whiff and wrinkled her nose.
“Sandy’s got to clean out that cage. Rupert’s hers.”
Kim attempted to pet the dappled guinea pig but it moved as if to take a nip out of her finger.
“I’d be careful; Rupert has a bad disposition and sharp little teeth.”
“You wouldn’t have any idea when Sandy plans to return, would you?”
“Nope. I don’t mind her business and she doesn’t mind mine. That’s why we get along so well. I’m Maura, by the way.”
“Are you also an English major?”
“No, I’m getting my Master’s in Art History. It’s a tough field for women, but we’re making progress.”
“Well, good luck to you.”
Maura gave her a small smile, indicating she’d begun to relax a little and let down her guard.
“Would you happen to know Sandy’s friend Nick?”
Maura’s expression immediately sobered. “I know him. Not a very nice guy is friend Nick. In some ways, he reminds me of ol’ Rupert. Why Sandy would hang out with a Neanderthal like Nick beats me. It really sets women back. Would you like to sit down?” She indicated several chairs, but each was littered with clothes, notepads or books. Seeing the mess, Maura politely picked up an armful of clothing from one chair, opened a closet and threw the garments on the floor within. “I call that my shitorium,” she explained cheerfully. “Everything I don’t know what to do with ends up there. My theory of housekeeping is: those that care don’t really matter, and those that matter don’t really care.”
“Clever,” Kim said.
“I like to think so, but the truth is, I heard it somewhere and adopted it. It just seemed to fit—Sandy as well as me. Keeping a spotless homestead will never be one of our top priorities.”
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