The Inferno Collection

by Jacqueline Seewald

  “Yeah, and that’s all the more reason for you to keep a respectful distance. I’ll talk to your Dr. Forbes if it proves necessary.”

  “Oh, it’s necessary all right. Both Lorette and Sandy were at his house, and now they’re dead.”

  “They also shared a course in Medieval Romance. Why couldn’t that be the crucial connection?”

  “You do have a point,” she conceded.

  “Besides the one on top of my head?”

  He was joking with her again, acting as if they were friends, but she wasn’t fooled, nor was she about to relinquish her own argument.

  “Regardless, Nick Margrove behaved very suspiciously and I really think he attacked me.”

  “Fine, like I said, I’ll look into it. You just keep your nose out of police business. You’re a civilian and I’m saying it for your own protection.”

  She didn’t answer him. She supposed that his were the best of intentions, and what could she say anyway? Yet an hour after talking to him, she was already reasoning that a phone call to Dr. Forbes would not be out of order. Why should she let herself be intimidated by anyone, good intentions or not? Karen Reyner would have cowered but not Kim Reynolds.

  Dr. Forbes’ secretary announced that he would not be at the university that day. She could try his home number, if she had it. No, his secretary was instructed not to give such information out. That went on Kim’s list of things to discover when she returned to the library the following day. She also wanted Dr. Forbes’ home address. She would give a lot just to look around his house. Whimsically, she imagined herself in the Roaring Twenties walking up to the door of a speakeasy and demanding to be let in. “Joe sent me,” she’d say. What was behind the green door?

  A thought occurred to her. Frank would know, wouldn’t he? He cleaned the house. Maybe if she offered him some money, he’d give her the necessary info. Most likely he could use a few dollars extra. Trouble was, a few was all she had to spare.

  Her phone rang, jarring her out of her speculation.

  “I don’t mean to rush you, but you didn’t take anything with you last time, and I’m planning to leave for Florida next week.”

  “Ma? Those things are part of my past. I’m living in the present—except you did say I could have Jen’s diary.”

  There was a deep sigh on the other end of the line. “You can come by for it anytime. It’s waiting for you.”

  She decided to see Ma that day, maybe give her some help packing and figuring out what to do with the old things they didn’t want.

  “I’m free today. Why don’t I come around noon?”

  * * * *

  Ma was waiting for her, just as before. She looked every one of her fifty-odd years. There were lines etched in her face, and her hair was graying noticeably. She was weary from a lifetime of hard work and disappointment. Kim wondered guiltily how much she’d added to Ma’s burdens.

  “You’ll stay and have lunch with me, won’t you?” Ma asked hopefully.

  “Why don’t I take you out?”

  “A waste of good money. I know you don’t earn that much. Of course, you should, doing the valuable job you do, but life isn’t always fair, is it? I’ve got tuna salad all made up and I baked a cheesecake from this low-calorie recipe. It substitutes egg white and cottage cheese for the high-fat stuff. I have to watch it these days. Gall bladder’s acting up Doc says.”

  “Sounds like a terrific meal, but you shouldn’t go to so much trouble for me.”

  “You’re my girl,” she said with a smile. Her brown eyes were warm as toast.

  Kim felt a painful lump form in her throat. “I was thinking that you could hold a garage sale to get rid of some of this stuff. You could advertise in the local paper. Your trash might be someone else’s treasure.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea.”

  They sat down to lunch together. Ma asked about her job and her friends. Kim didn’t talk much about Lorette and avoided mentioning the death of Sandy. She let Ma do most of the talking. When they finished the cheesecake, which turned out to be different but tasty, Ma brought up a difficult subject for both of them.

  “Some magazine writer phoned me a few days ago. He had questions about Carl. Said he was writing an article and he wanted to include Carl in it.”

  Kim’s stomach muscles contracted. “I thought we were through with that. Now they want to dredge it all up again. What did this man want to know?”

  “He says there’s a lot of people like Carl who go crazy and start shooting people. You know, like those postal workers. In fact, he called it going postal.”

  “But Carl did it in a veteran’s hospital.”

  “Because they weren’t doing anything for men like him. He was trying to make a point. He was dying and no one seemed to care.”

  “Ma, you sound as though you condone what he did.”

  Ma started collecting the dishes from the table and stacking them in the sink.

  “He was a good man, Karen. If you’d known him before he went over there, you’d understand. He gave everything for his country and his country forgot about him, wrote him off like an embarrassment. He didn’t want his life to mean nothing. He thought about it long and hard. He killed those people because they were hospital administrators who didn’t care. Of course, he was wrong to do it, but he wanted publicity. He wanted to be heard. Violence is what the world is interested in. So he took those hostages to draw attention to the problem.”

  “He didn’t have to kill them!”

  “He didn’t have to kill himself either, but he thought he had a reason, a cause.”

  Ma was expecting something from her that she couldn’t give. “I’ll never understand or accept it. Those people he killed, two administrators and a secretary, they weren’t making policy. He killed innocent people. You’ve also conveniently forgotten his temper and how he treated you. I think you should have divorced him long before he went postal.”

  There were tears in Ma’s eyes. Kim put her arms around her mother. “Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “No, we should talk about it. We never have been able.”

  “It’s not easy to talk about a thing like that. It’s not easy to talk about him. I don’t think we’ll ever agree. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, though.”

  She didn’t stay much longer; she just couldn’t. There were too many memories here, too much pain. Before she left, Ma handed her the small diary.

  “I don’t know why you want to read it, but you might as well keep it.”

  “I read it when I was fifteen. That was when I first understood about her.”

  “When you finish reading it, if you want to talk about Jen, let me know.”

  “I think I would.”

  Ma hugged her tightly. “I love you,” she said in a quiet, almost desperate voice. “Always remember that.”

  Kim found herself unable to reply and left quickly.

  * * * *

  The following morning, she went to the graduate English lounge shortly before the meeting of Dr. Barnes’ Bible Literature class. She moved around unobtrusively, watching and listening—exactly for what, she wasn’t certain. She recognized the girl who’d been so interested in Jim Davis. The pretty young student went to the metal coffee urn, placed her Styrofoam cup under the spigot and yawned dramatically.

  “Honestly,” she said turning to the heavyset male student who stood beside her, “there isn’t enough coffee in the entire world to keep me awake during one of Dr. Barnes’ sermons.”

  “Definitely not New Critical,” the young man agreed, slurping down some of his coffee. “I mean, anyone worth anything is New Critical, don’t you think?”

  Kim found his artificiality grating. A third student joined the other two, a dime-thin blonde in a long, flowing patterned skirt and fuzzy green sweater.

  “New Critical is passé. It’s like Art Deco, a prehistoric dinosaur that’s bit the dust. Just because professors favor close reading does not mean it
’s the only approach. What about deconstruction? Now that’s meaningful.”

  The discussion continued until it was time for them to go to class. Then the moaning and groaning commenced again. Kim caught snatches of other conversations.

  “Don’t take Danford, whatever you do,” one young man cautioned another. “He’s doddering and senile. Skips from discussing Paradise Lost to describing how he plants rose bushes, then starts to yawn at his own lecture.”

  It all seemed so superficial, petty, and phony. All these young people were locked in the ivory tower of academia, hiding in their study of books, far from the world of everyday reality. Had she once been like that?

  She walked down the corridor looking for Frank and finally found him on the second floor, cleaning up a broken juice bottle near the women’s bathroom. She could tell by the look he gave her that he recognized her. She withdrew twenty dollars from her wallet and held it out to him.

  “For what?” he asked suspiciously.

  “To give me some information about Dr. Forbes’ house.”

  “Like what?”

  “You tell me. What’s unusual about the house? Where do his students meet with him? Do you know what goes on at his gatherings?”

  Frank had small, dull eyes, yet there was a shrewd quality about them. “My time is valuable,” he said. “Make it another twenty and I’ll go somewhere private to talk.”

  “All right,” she agreed and followed him down the corridor to a deserted classroom.

  He closed the door behind them. His breath reeked of alcohol. “You just want an excuse to flirt with ol’ Frank, don’t you?” He gave her a leering smile and moved his body close to hers. He stank of stale sweat.

  She shoved him away, practically retching. “Forget it. Sober up and maybe we’ll talk again.”

  “Oh, I could tell you plenty, cutie,” he called after her.

  She left the room without looking back, aware that her twenty dollars had not succeeded in buying any information. No one seemed to take her seriously. Too bad she’d never acquired an intimidating persona; it would make this much easier. She supposed that Lieutenant Gardner was right about leaving investigative work to professionals. She certainly wasn’t getting very far with it. There was no doubt that when he spoke, people paid attention.

  At the library, she sat down at her desk and tried to think what she should do. Devoid of inspiration, she checked her mailbox and found a brown paper bag stuffed in it. Within the bag, there was a doll, a crude effigy with a fringe of brown yarn for hair, obviously meant to represent her. A steel needle pierced through the chest. Her first angry reaction was to throw it in the trash, but then she realized it had to be shown to Lieutenant Gardner. She placed the offensive object back in its paper bag and tossed it in the bottom drawer of her desk. She felt chilled with a sudden premonition of evil.

  It was time to find Dr. Forbes’ home number, to talk to the man again. Who needed Frank anyway? Dr. Forbes’ number was listed in the faculty directory, and he answered on the second ring, almost as if he were waiting for her call, although she knew that thought was ridiculous—or was it?

  He appeared to recognize her voice before she identified herself. “Ms. Reynolds, was there a special reason you decided to honor me with a phone call?”

  “I have the strangest feeling you already know.”

  “You give me too much credit.” His mocking voice was like a singsong melody played on a flute.

  If he was responsible for the voodoo doll being placed in her mailbox, she certainly didn’t intend to give him the satisfaction of bringing it up directly. Then again, if he had nothing to do with it, there wasn’t much point either. She remembered back to her days as a teacher and could not recall a single incident of mischief in which a student confessed unless he was caught in the act.

  “I’ve been informed you have an interest in my home. Is that correct?”

  So Frank the custodian had phoned the professor. She wished now that she had snatched her twenty dollars back from the lecher.

  “I understand Lorette was invited to one of your gatherings.”

  “Indeed she was. Perhaps you would like to be a guest at one of my gatherings too. You seem so very fascinated.”

  “Possibly. What is the criteria for selection? Academic superiority? Or is it something else?”

  “Let’s just say I look for a certain level of inquisitiveness. I think, Ms. Reynolds, you have an amazingly inquiring mind.”

  She thought that his euphemism was a bit much. Another person would have come right out with it and told her she was too nosy. Professor Forbes definitely had a subtle way about him when he chose.

  “I’m flattered you would consider inviting me.”

  “Oh, it’s more than that. I intend to help you find out what happened to your friend. So let’s say that you come over here tonight.”

  “Tonight?” He was throwing out a challenge to her, and she was on her guard. “I’m at work.”

  “Come when you finish.” He gave her his address and directions. He just assumed that she would come. “I shall look forward to seeing you again. I believe we have much to discuss.” He sounded very pleased, like a cat purring after imbibing a saucer of cream.

  She held the phone in her hand thoughtfully for a few seconds after he’d hung up, staring at nothing in particular. An uneasy feeling gripped her. Only a few times in her life had she felt this way, once before she’d fractured her leg and a second time before Carl went on his rampage of carnal destruction. She was not clairvoyant, but she did have a distinct sense of wrongness.

  However, scared as she was, she would go to Dr. Forbes’ house. There were answers there. This was some sort of test for her. She felt herself a failure at so many things in life, like a dog futilely chasing its own tail. It was time to take hold, to take root, like a tree, and find her way in the world.

  Nevertheless, she was on edge the rest of the day. She tried to lose herself in her work, but it didn’t seem to help. The agitated feeling in her stomach, as if butterflies were flapping their wings and screaming in warning, prevented her from being able to eat any dinner later on.

  Finally, before she left the library, Kim picked up the phone and made the call she’d been contemplating all evening. Talking to him might help. But Lieutenant Gardner wasn’t in. Rather foolish to think that he would be just sitting around waiting for her to phone. Even policemen didn’t work twenty-four hours a day. He’d worked his shift and gone home to his family. She left her name and phone number with a policewoman.

  “It might be important for him to know that I’m going to see Professor Forbes tonight at his home. You’ll make certain the lieutenant receives that message as soon as possible?” She was reassured by the disembodied voice that asserted she would. Kim left Dr. Forbes’ address, just in case.

  There was no repeat of the incident of the other night. No one following, no footsteps; still she hurried to her car, her heart palpitating. In her automobile, she whirled through the darkness like a child on a calliope, feeling that this entire experience was slightly surreal. But she reminded herself that this was, in fact, quite real. She was not in an amusement park riding through the funhouse. Several times, she wondered why she was doing such a foolish thing. She ought to turn right around and go home. It was late and she was exhausted. However, who else could discover the answer to the question she was seeking? Forbes had promised her insights if she came tonight. It was probably stupidity on her part, but she needed to know.

  Dr. Forbes’ house was not far from the campus. The alumni association had purchased the dwelling as an incentive to keep him at the university. Because he was a world-renowned scholar, Columbia had tried desperately to lure him away. The house had turned the tide in favor of the university, and Forbes had remained.

  The domicile was a large old Victorian set back from the tree-lined avenue with no near neighbors. Tall hedges surrounded the structure, creating an aura of supreme privacy.

  S
he parked up the street from the house. It looked almost deserted and the upstairs was dark, but there was a light on the front porch indicating she was expected. Still, she had the sickening thought that perhaps no one else had been invited, that this was not one of the professor’s student-gathering evenings after all. She couldn’t possibly be early. Her thoughts focused momentarily on that effigy with the sharp metal pin through its chest. With a final queasy sensation in the abyss of her stomach, Kim walked up the winding path to the porch steps. There was an eerie creak as she ascended. There was also a tinkling sound she recognized as wind chimes; they were oddly desolate and reminded her of how alone and vulnerable she actually was.

  Dr. Forbes answered the doorbell almost immediately and showed her into his foyer.

  “May I take your coat?” he asked. His eyes glittered like sapphires behind dark-framed lenses.

  “No, I’ll keep it with me,” she said. “I feel rather cold.”

  He smiled as if he understood her perfectly. He was dressed casually, not in a suit as she remembered him before, but a black mock turtleneck sweater and black slacks. “Step into my parlor,” he said. “Won’t you sit down, my dear?” He indicated a large, old-fashioned loveseat.

  Her eyes made a quick sweep of the room. The dark mahogany furnishings were large and Victorian in style. There were bookcases everywhere filled with finely bound volumes. They did share a love of books, she realized. An antique Persian rug of the finest quality in part covered the parquet floor. A large fireplace with an elegant marble mantel dominated the room.

  “I am pleased that you decided to visit with me,” he said. “You are gifted. I sensed that immediately, but you’ve denied your talents. I believe you are meant to be one of us.”

  “One of what, precisely?”

  “All in good time, my dear. You must be patient. You will know everything when you are ready for it.”

  The intensity of his gaze was unnerving her. “Is anyone else coming tonight?”

  “We are not entirely alone, if that makes you feel any easier. Now tell me why you were so eager to see my house.”