The Perfect Coed (Oak Grove Mysteries Book 1)

by Judy Alter

  “I’ll call in the morning,” he said, and then he planted a quick kiss on Aunt Jenny’s cheek.

  She watched him go, her hand on that spot on her cheek and a smile on her face. “I like him,” she said softly to herself. “How can I let Susan know that without making her rebel?” Jake Phillips wasn’t the only one who understood Susan Hogan.

  Jake ran to his truck with his chin tucked down to his chest to avoid the rain that was still coming down fairly hard. He never saw the old Ford that sat a half block from Susan’s house.

  Chapter Nine

  Susan slept most of the next day, drifting in and out, but it was not a peaceful sleep. She fought to consciousness frequently to wipe out images of cars coming at her and mopeds turning over. Missy Jackson’s face kept surfacing before her eyes, and once she saw Dr. Scott with his arm around Brandy Perkins. Awake, she managed to make the bathroom on her crutches without accident and to go into the kitchen for more of last night’s soup. “Aunt Jenny,” she asked, childlike, “would you make meatloaf and mashed potatoes for dinner?”

  “Comfort food?” her aunt asked. “I surely will. I’ll just go to the market this afternoon while you sleep.”

  “Can you find it? It’s… if you go north on Main toward the campus, you’ll come to Albertsons. Or you can take Park to Broad, turn left and go to Winn-Dixie. That’s not what it’s called now, but…”

  “I can find a store,” Aunt Jenny said firmly.

  Susan was sound asleep and never knew that Aunt Jenny’s trip to the grocery took over two hours. If confronted, Aunt Jenny was prepared to explain that she had just taken a little sightseeing tour to get out of the house and then the market didn’t seem to have what she wanted—not the right brand of ketchup and the potatoes were awful so she had to pick carefully and…

  Actually, she went straight north on Main to Subie’s Café on the square. There was only one waitress, and Jenny presumed she was the Margie Jake had mentioned. She ordered pecan pie, and when Margie brought it, Jenny started a casual conversation, since there were few patrons in the restaurant at two in the afternoon.

  “I’m just in from Wichita Falls, visiting relatives,” she said. “and I want to explore Oak Grove. But I’m so horrified about what happened to that coed. Is this town safe?”

  Margie gave a harsh laugh. “Sure, the city’s safe. Someone just was after that girl, and I bet it was that Dr. Hogan from the university. That’s what the police think too. I know her well,” Margie said. “Her and Mr. Phillips, they eat in here all the time. Chicken-fried steak for him and a hamburger for her.” Margie apparently had forgotten that she told Jake she thought no one was safe in their beds anymore, and Aunt Jenny didn’t know about her earlier opinion that she had apparently narrowed down.

  “That so?” Aunt Jenny asked, pretending a certain level of disinterest. “My, this is such good pie.”

  “We make them ourselves,” Margie beamed. Then, conspiratorially, she said, “You know, I like Dr. Hogan. She’s, well, she’s different, doesn’t act like I think a university professor should, but…”

  Jenny Hogan groaned inwardly at that assessment of her niece. “But what?” she asked.

  “But it’s so hard to realize that she killed a student. I just can’t imagine what could have made her do it.”

  “You sure she did it?” Jenny asked.

  “Who else?” Margie shrugged. “The police are sure. I hear they’re goin’ to arrest her any day now. We get lots of cops in here and… you know… I hear things. You want some more coffee, hon?”

  Jenny had heard too much of Margie’s talk. “No, thanks,” she said, “but, my, that was good pie. I’ll be back.”

  “You do that, hon.”

  Actually, Jenny thought the piecrust was tough and the pecan filling too syrupy. Her own pecan pies were much better. On Main she passed Albertsons and thought she might just as well do her shopping there. She found what she needed, though she didn’t think the ground beef was up to her standards, and made her purchase.

  She was still so flustered and worried about the possibility of Susan being arrested that she drove right past Susan’s house, ended up in the country, and had to backtrack for a mile. When she got to Susan’s house, she was relieved to find her niece still asleep.

  Back in Susan’s kitchen, she set about mixing ground meat, cracker crumbs—she had no idea how to work the Cuisinart and laboriously crumbed the crackers by putting them in a plastic bag and beating on it, softly of course, with a rolling pin. Then she added egg, a little tapioca to make it hold together, ketchup, Worcestershire, mustard, and onion for flavor. Then she patted it all into a pan. Next she carefully peeled the potatoes, the peel so thin that it was transparent—Aunt Jenny didn’t believe in wasting potato but neither did she like those newfangled mashed potatoes with the skins still on them. And all the time she worked, one question sang in her head: “What if they arrest Susan?”

  Susan woke to delicious smells wafting through the house, and she knew that she was hungry, even famished. She also felt more awake and normal than she had since the accident. A look at the clock told her it was nearly five. Jake would be coming soon to check on her—and no doubt expected to stay for dinner. Aunt Jenny would be scandalized if she greeted him in a T-shirt and panties, no matter how long the shirt. She couldn’t manage jeans, she hated her only terrycloth housecoat unless the temperature had dipped below freezing, and she was darned if she was going to put on a dress. A denim split skirt solved the problem, the wide legs slipping easily over the cast. A clean T-shirt, and she was ready for the world. She made her way to the kitchen on crutches.

  “Susan! You should have called me. It’s a wonder you didn’t fall and break the other ankle.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Jenny,” Susan said dryly. Then, “Dinner sure smells good.”

  “I’ve fixed the meatloaf and mashed potatoes you wanted, beets and greens—who’d have thought I’d find beet greens in the market?—and frozen corn.” She shook her head sadly. “It’s better than the canned. And I fixed an apple pie. Apples are so good right now.”

  Jake arrived with news that Susan’s classes were being taken by Ellen, and she’d be by the next day to bring papers for Susan to grade. Dr. Scott had taken the news of Susan’s accident with a muttered, “I told her not to ride that thing to school” and said no more. Ernie Westin was sneering about the moped and probably, Ellen reported, went straight to Scott with the story. The provost had called Jake to make sure Susan was all right. He couched the call in strictly impersonal terms.

  “I understand one of our faculty members had an accident on campus, and you helped care for her, Jake. What can you tell me?”

  Jake gave him an equally impersonal report. “It wasn’t technically on campus, sir. It was on Main Street, so the university has no liability. Susan’s leg has been set, and she’ll be on crutches a while, but she’ll be okay.” The provost hung up reassured.

  Susan wasn’t sure who ate more or faster at dinner—she or Jake—but the meatloaf was delicious, moist and meaty with just enough cracker crumbs to bind but not enough to overwhelm the meat. Aunt Jenny buttered the beets and squeezed lemon over the greens, and she had liberally salted and peppered the corn. Susan thought she detected garlic in the potatoes, which would have been new and trendy for Aunt Jenny, but she didn’t say anything.

  Jake pushed back from the table. “Aunt Jenny, I can’t tell you when I had such a good meal. Certainly not since I’ve been seeing your niece here.” He looked at Susan and grinned.

  She started to kick him under the table, but the slightest movement reminded her that her right leg wouldn’t do that right now. “I haven’t seen you make meatloaf,” she said sarcastically.

  “’Cause I couldn’t ever make it like Aunt Jenny,” he replied complacently.

  They had just finished their apple pie and were sipping on strong but decaffeinated coffee when the doorbell rang. Jake went to the door.

  “Mr. Phillips? I wasn�
��t expecting you.”

  Susan recognized the boyish young voice—it was Eric Lindler.

  “I wasn’t expecting you either, Eric,” Jake said. “What brings you here?”

  “I heard Dr. Hogan was hurt, and she was kind to me the other day, and I just, well, I wanted to come tell her I was sorry, make sure she was all right.”

  “Eric!” Susan called, ignoring Jake, who was frowning and worrying just a little about how Eric knew where Susan lived. “Nice of you to come by. Come on in.”

  Aunt Jenny was in the kitchen, piling dishes in the sink. She turned to stare as Eric Lindler entered the house. He went straight to the table where Susan sat and said, “Dr. Hogan, I was really sorry to hear what happened to you, and I just wanted to tell you that. I can, you know, run errands for you or do anything like that.”

  “Thanks, Eric,” Susan said sincerely. “Right now, between Jake and Aunt Jenny, everything’s okay. You know Mr. Phillips?”

  Eric nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We met… Missy, you know.”

  The two shook hands, and Jake said a sort of mumbled “Good to see you again” even while he wondered what could possibly be appropriate in these circumstances.

  “And my aunt, Miss Jenny Hogan,” Susan said.

  Aunt Jenny came forward drying her hands on her apron. She shook hands with Eric, looked straight at him for a long minute, and then said, “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.”

  “Have a seat, Eric,” Susan said. “Aunt Jenny, can we get him a Coke?”

  “Yes,” Aunt Jenny said and promptly appeared with a warm can of Coke.

  Jake winked at Susan, took the Coke, and said, “Let me get you some ice, Eric.”

  “Oh, no, sir, I like it that way. Really I do.”

  They almost had a tug-of-war about it, but finally Jake filled a glass with ice, poured the Coke into it, and gave it to Eric.

  “How are you?” Susan asked.

  The boy knew it was more than a casual question. “I’m doing okay, Dr. Hogan. I have ups and downs, but I’m doing okay. My roommate, Tony, he’s really been helpful.” He brightened a little. “We went to see a movie the other night. First time I’ve been off campus.”

  Jake was watching the boy closely. Finally, he asked, “You talked to Lieutenant Jordan lately?”

  Eric turned. “No, sir. I figure he’ll call me if he finds anything out. I just hope they find out who did it pretty soon. I’m not keeping my grades up like I should and…”

  Something prompted Susan to ask, “Have you heard from Missy’s parents?”

  He shook his head. “No, ma’am. They’re… well, they’re strange people. They didn’t much think I was good enough for Missy. And I think they’re grieving so hard they can’t reach out to other people.”

  Both Jake and Susan were astounded just then to hear Aunt Jenny demand in a stern voice, “Young man, have you had dinner?”

  Eric looked up, startled. “Uh, no, ma’am. I’ll go to the Main when I get back to campus.”

  “I’ll just fix you a plate,” Aunt Jenny said, leaving no room for further protest. And fix she did—a huge plate of all the good home-cooked things they’d had for supper. She sat at the table long enough to watch with satisfaction while Eric cleaned his plate.

  Having eaten rapidly, he stood up to take his plate to the sink. “Miss Hogan,” he said, “I haven’t had food like that since my grandma cooked for me. I thank you, I really do.”

  “You’re more than welcome, son,” Aunt Jenny said, and her voice softened some.

  Eric made his farewells almost as soon as he finished eating, making Susan promise to call him if he could run errands or do anything to help.

  After he left, Jake and Susan both stared at Aunt Jenny, who had gone back to the sink and was washing dishes. Susan had tried to get her to use the dishwasher but she snorted and said it only spread germs around. She preferred the tried-and-true method.

  “What was that about?” Susan asked. “One minute you’re sure he’s a murderer, and the next you’re feeding him.”

  Aunt Jenny turned to face them, wiping at her forehead with a soapy hand. “I didn’t say I changed my mind. He killed that girl, but he still has to eat. And he’s sort of pitiful. I may take it on as a project to fatten him up.”

  “For death row?” Jake asked sarcastically.

  “Don’t you make fun of me, Jake Phillips,” she said sternly. “I hope to heaven that nice boy won’t end up on death row. I think he’ll plead temporary insanity when this is all over. What is it they say, a crime of passion?”

  Jake sat down beside Susan. “I’ve thought of that,” he said. “I’ve thought a lot about it. But someone who kills in a passion just simply kills. He doesn’t go to all the planned-out trouble that this killer did to hide the body and yet make sure it was found. That’s premeditated. It suggests a mind that’s thought things out.”

  Susan was inclined to believe Aunt Jenny’s theory. If Eric Lindler had been the murderer, it was a crime of passion—but that wouldn’t explain why someone was still after her, leaving dead kittens and causing moped wrecks. No, she was sure Aunt Jenny was wrong—the redheaded stranger was the real murderer.

  Susan’s mind was whirling with the possibilities the two of them had brought up, and she slept badly that night, especially since she had refused to take another of the pills that made her so fuzzy. This time, her dreams were filled with Eric Lindler and a baseball bat and a redheaded stranger. When Aunt Jenny commented the next morning that she looked tired, she said she’d slept fitfully because of the pain medication. But when Aunt Jenny went out on the deck to knit in the late fall sunshine, she called Jake at home since it was Saturday.

  “Eric didn’t do it,” she said, without even saying “hello.”

  “Nice to talk to you too, Susan,” he replied. “I can’t guess what’s on your mind.”

  “You’ve got to find out about that red-haired stranger… or go to Jordan with the story.”

  “Susan, there you go again. I’m working on it, and to tell the truth, I’m not going to Jordan because it would cause a scandal for the school.”

  “You’re withholding evidence,” Susan said, her voice rising in alarm.

  “No,” he replied patiently, “I’m withholding your wild suspicions.” He paused, and Susan could hear him take a deep breath. “Susan,” he said slowly, “Dirk Jordan is talking about a search warrant.”

  “What’s he want to search?”

  “Your house and your office.”

  “My house? For a baseball bat?” Susan was furious. “He should be out finding out who the killer is, and he’s wasting time looking at me?”

  “You’re not the only one who thinks he should be finding out who the killer is,” Jake said wryly. “He’s been getting pressure from the girl’s parents and Eric Lindler. Jordan says Lindler is pushing him about the search warrants.”

  “Eric? I thought he was my friend. I thought he was indignant that any suspicion was cast on me.”

  “I thought so too,” Jake said, again speaking slowly, as if he were thinking and talking simultaneously. “I can’t quite figure it all out. Anyway, this is Saturday, so they probably won’t be there until Monday. I don’t figure Jordan thinks it’s a rush.”

  “Well, they better search Eric’s dorm room too,” Susan said and slammed down the phone.

  Jake winced on the other end. Second time this week she’s shot the messenger, he told himself.

  Susan made her way on crutches to the deck to join Aunt Jenny. While the older woman chatted about Indian summer and how she thought she’d try going to the Oak Grove Christian Church this Sunday and whether or not Jake would like chicken or pot roast better for dinner, Susan stared into space.

  * * *

  Aunt Jenny told Susan the next morning that she’d not only attend church services, but she’d go to the seniors Sunday school class. “If it’s a bunch of boring old people, I won’t go again.”

  Susan noticed her aunt dr
essed with care in her best suit-dress, an avocado-green affair with brass buttons that had made Susan bite her tongue as she said, “How nice you look, Aunt Jenny,” remembering the days when Aunt Jenny wouldn’t dream of going to church without white gloves and a nice small hat. Aunt Jenny picked up her practical brown handbag—which did not go with her practical black shoes with one-inch heels—and headed out the door.

  “I’ll be back right after church,” she said to Susan. “You’ll be all right?”

  “Of course,” Susan said. “Jake will come by before you get home, I bet.”

  Aunt Jenny smiled benevolently and went out to the street where her car was parked. When she put it in gear and stepped on the gas, she took off with a squeal that made Susan wince.

  Jake came over about noon, expecting Aunt Jenny to fix lunch.

  “She should be home any time,” Susan told him. “She just went to church.”

  “I’ll make tuna sandwiches,” he said.

  Jake was the only man Susan had ever known who not only liked tuna salad, but he made a great version. This time he put a thick layer of tuna between slices of good rye bread, added pickles on the side, and served the plates with a flourish—and a beer for him and white wine for Susan. They ate on the deck, but Susan began to fret.

  “Where could Aunt Jenny be? Did she get lost between here and church? Jake, church has been out for an hour.”

  He was unconcerned. “Aunt Jenny can take care of herself. And if she needs us she’ll call.”

  “That’s another thing. She doesn’t have a cell phone. Calls them newfangled gadgets. What if she’s lost on some highway out in the country? She has no way to call.”

  “Susan,” he sighed patiently, “stop worrying. Aunt Jenny will be here when she’s here. If she doesn’t come in time to cook dinner, I’ll go get steaks.”

  It was almost two-thirty in the afternoon when Aunt Jenny breezed in and found them still on the deck, Susan on her second wine.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been frantic with worry. How can you take four hours to go to Sunday school and church?”