Grey Matters

by Clea Simon

  ‘Lloyd?’ She really needed to talk to him.

  ‘Later,’ he said, shooting a glance at Lindsay. Then he stood and closed the bag. ‘Of course, you’re presuming a structuralist approach.’ He had assumed a more authoritative voice, one that Dulcie recognized as borrowing from Professor Bullock. ‘An approach in which some kind of absolute, some standard, exists.’ He walked to the door and paused. ‘Not only is that ultimately an anti-humanist approach, it’s impractical. Books are written by people, for other people, which means you may want to consider the uncertainty principle, too.’

  With that, he hiked his bag on to his shoulder and left, leaving Lindsay with her mouth hanging open and Dulcie stifling a giggle. This was a side of her chubby officemate she’d never seen. But as she sat there, listening to his soft steps echo down the empty hallway, she realized she couldn’t let him go, not like this.

  ‘Hang on a minute.’ Dulcie ran out into the hallway. ‘Lloyd?’

  He turned, and even at this distance she could see the strain in his face. ‘Not now, Dulcie. Please.’ She started to protest, but he held up one hand. ‘I’ll explain, I promise. But right now I’ve got to do what I can to defend myself.’ And with that, he was gone, leaving Dulcie to return to her student.

  ‘You were saying?’ Letting Lindsay rattle on gave Dulcie time for thought. As enigmatic, and troubling, as his farewell had been, something about Lloyd’s earlier brief but effective speech had sparked an idea. At first, Dulcie thought it was simply its usefulness. She’d never been a literary theorist, but she would go back to her Foucault and Derrida if it helped keep her students in line. No, it was something else, the Heisenberg reference. But Lindsay had taken her silence as censure, and had shifted into a pleading mode. Something about her final paper, about losing her research through a power surge, and Dulcie, distracted, let her ramble on. Maybe she just needed to act more assured, she thought, even as she longed for simpler days, when hungry dogs were blamed. Maybe it wasn’t what one knew, but how one presented everything. With that thought circling her brain, Dulcie finally got her tutee to leave, hinting at the possibility of an extension. Chris’s classes ran longer than hers, anyway, so they wouldn’t be leaving for his mother’s till nearly Christmas. A moment of doubt clutched at her: Chris hadn’t mentioned the invitation recently, not since he’d started disappearing into work . . . No, she decided, she wouldn’t go there.

  Still, it was a relief, when she finally locked up the office and walked out, to find that Chris had called. She reached him on the first ring, but any hope she had for some real-time company was quickly dashed.

  ‘Sorry, sweetie, I should’ve been at work fifteen minutes ago.’ He paused, as if he could hear her thoughts. ‘Another tutorial. But, hey, think we could grab some dinner? And they’re showing the Olivier Rebecca at Dunster House tonight. I know you like that one.’

  ‘Maybe.’ It was a peace offering, she could see that. She did love the old movie, with its mystery and murder and blackmail, all set in a much more romantic location than her own. But she wasn’t crazy about going to the undergraduate houses for movies. Too much chance of being cornered by an anxious student. Some of her reluctance, she knew, was irrational. ‘I’m sorry, Chris. I’m just feeling . . .’ She stopped to think. Ignored? Inconsequential? ‘Lonely,’ she said at last. She was standing outside the Union at this point, students rushing every which way around her. ‘That sounds silly, right? I mean, I’ve got a great roommate and you’re there.’ Except that Suze now had Ariano, and Chris had, well, he seemed to be working an awful lot. ‘And the new kitten, of course.’

  ‘’Course, Dulcie.’ That wasn’t the reassurance she wanted, but she could hear the distraction in his voice as he hurried off. ‘Speaking of the kitten. I was talking to Jerry and, you know, he wouldn’t mind taking care of it – her, I mean – if something came up.’

  ‘You mean, like the winter break? But I thought we could take her. I mean, we’ll be taking the bus, right?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s fine. My mom loves cats. I just mean, well, if something else comes up.’

  Dulcie bristled. ‘Look, I know you and Suze don’t think I’m being fair to the kitten. But, it’s been difficult for me to get over Mr Grey. Especially since . . .’ She paused, afraid of who might overhear. ‘Since he’s not really gone. But I’ve taken on the responsibility of caring for this animal, and I’m not about to give her up.’

  Chris, to her surprise, was laughing. ‘I didn’t mean you had to give her up! It was just an offer. That’s all!’

  ‘Good.’ Because as the heat of her anger subsided, Dulcie found herself thinking of the little furball and how she had cuddled up against her just that morning. This kitten would never replace Mr Grey, but she was a good little creature, in her way.

  Setting off to get a lonely lunch, Dulcie tried to figure out what was bothering her. Lloyd’s departure, dramatic as it was, had left too many questions. While she was grateful for the way he had shut down her student’s more pompous ramblings, she kept thinking about uncertainty. ‘I wish I had some uncertainty,’ she muttered as she slid on to a stool at Lala’s. Her problem was that she was becoming all too sure that The Ravages was faked, in every sense. But there was something else. An image of Mrs Danvers, the crazed villain behind all of the fictional Rebecca’s problems, came to mind. Was there someone like that lurking in the background? No, she thought as she browsed the menu, knowing in advance what she was going to order. The only madwoman in her life was Lucy, and she was a good witch.

  ‘I should call her,’ Dulcie said to the waitress. ‘And I’ll have the three-bean burger, extra hot sauce, please.’ The waitress moved on without blinking. In Harvard Square, she got all types. But what was it about Mrs Danvers – or about Lloyd? Suddenly, Dulcie remembered what Lloyd had said about Bullock, moments before they’d been interrupted. Lloyd seemed to feel that the arrest was personal, that their professor had it out for him. And Lloyd certainly knew the professor better than anyone, except maybe Polly. What had he meant about protecting himself? From the back of her mind another memory surfaced, something about research, about stealing students’ work . . .

  Could Lloyd be blackmailing Professor Bullock?

  FORTY-NINE

  The possibility consumed the rest of Dulcie’s day, interrupting her reading and making her short with the freshman who cornered her on the Widener stairs. Didn’t they see she had other things on her mind beside their final papers? But remembering her earlier resolve, she bit back her planned retort and listened, the wind whipping across the Yard, as the freshman, an anemic-looking brunette, started spinning a story about an untenable roommate situation and the general difficulties of dorm life.

  ‘It can be trying.’ Dulcie smiled at her, thinking how lucky she was to have met Suze in freshman year. ‘But can’t you always go work in one of the libraries?’

  ‘But they’re so . . .’ The girl paused, looking past Dulcie, up the steps to the university’s main library. ‘So anonymous. It’s creepy.’

  Dulcie raised her eyebrows, unsure of how to respond. ‘They’re the greatest resource you have as a student here.’ She paused. ‘Maybe I should talk to the professors about incorporating a research project into the curriculum.’

  The look on the freshman’s face stopped her short. She hadn’t meant it as a punishment, but the query was enough to send the student on her way. Not that it mattered. Even when Dulcie had settled into her carrel down in the depths of the library, her focus eluded her. Partly, she admitted to herself, that was because she didn’t want to find out more. The book of essays was still on her desk at home, waiting for her to re-read it – to confirm her initial impression that it repeated phrases she knew well from The Ravages of Umbria. Before she did anything else, she should check into the source of that essay. Perhaps the phrase – that line about emeralds – had been a literary convention. A cliché, even.

  It was no use. Dulcie had read enough from the era to recognize the
standard phrasings, to smile, even at the hackneyed phrases of the day. The ‘shadow’d peaks’ and ‘loves forlorn.’ That was why she had loved The Ravages. It had seemed so fresh. So unlikely. So . . . fake.

  She gave up and closed her eyes. At least down here she was probably safe from undergrads. But as she sat there, feet up on the carrel, drifting toward sleep, another thought shook her. Undergrads. Raleigh. First the young woman worked with Cameron, then she bailed out Lloyd. Could she have been involved with her former tutor, or with his murder? And, if so, what did that mean for poor Lloyd?

  By the time Dulcie emerged, she was completely confused. And a phone call from Suze didn’t help.

  ‘I don’t know if I’m up to socializing tonight, Suze.’ She’d only half listened as her roommate said something about a special at the People’s Republik. ‘And, I mean, I spend enough time at that bar as it is.’

  ‘That’s not what Trista was telling me.’ Suze had her lawyer voice on. ‘And besides, they’re inaugurating their new grill. Burgers, panini, all that stuff – but the special is tonight only.’

  ‘It’ll be a mad house.’ Dulcie already knew Chris would want to go – and that she should release him from his promise of a romantic movie. Her boyfriend packed away food like one of the crazed squirrels in the Yard.

  ‘It’ll be a lot healthier than some of the other houses you’ve been hanging in.’ The way Suze spoke, Dulcie knew better than to argue. Besides, she had missed Suze. The bar might not be the best place for an intimate conversation, but she’d be able to air some of her thoughts, and get the kind of solid advice she’d come to rely on.

  ‘I’ll tell Chris.’ She ceded victory. So much for Rebecca.

  ‘He already knows,’ said her roommate. ‘Your buddy Trista called me. It was her guy Jerry who got the coupons.’

  Three hours later, she was grateful for the shove. Happily full from a ham and provolone panini, she pushed the rest of her chips over to Chris. He’d been less thrilled about his entree, a fruit, sausage, and cheese concoction that he’d dubbed ‘interesting’ (but finished anyway), and accepted Dulcie’s leftovers with a smile. Across the table, Jerry and Trista were sharing a slice of cheesecake. ‘Frozen,’ pronounced Trista, relinquishing it to her skinny boyfriend. He shrugged and dug in. Suze had indeed brought Ariano, but he was fitting in well with the university crowd, discussing the Patriots quarterback situation with Jerry and Trollope with Trista.

  ‘He reads.’ Dulcie noted with surprise, leaning over toward her roommate, her voice low. ‘For fun!’

  ‘One of us has to.’ Suze sounded tired, and Dulcie looked up at her. Almost daily runs kept the color in Suze’s cheeks, but the final, punishing year of law school showed in her drawn expression and the blue-black shadows that ringed her eyes. No wonder her roommate had been absent from her life.

  ‘At least you’re staying with the exercise.’

  ‘It keeps me sane.’ Suze shrugged. ‘Speaking of sane, what’s up with that crazy thesis adviser of yours?’

  ‘Oh, man.’ It was the opening she’d hoped for. An invitation to air. But in such company, after such a meal, Dulcie really wanted to leave the outside world alone.

  No such luck. ‘And, what’s up with Lloyd? I thought I saw him in the Yard.’

  ‘You did,’ Dulcie confirmed, and then proceeded to tell the table about her strange encounter, leaving out only Lloyd’s enigmatic final words and her own suspicions.

  ‘She’s got to be involved.’ Trista had a taste for conspiracies. ‘It’s guilt. That’s why she bailed him out.’

  ‘Her father did,’ Jerry corrected her. ‘And he’s some big-deal lawyer, right? I don’t trust any of them. Present company excepted, of course.’

  Suze nodded, accepting the charge. ‘Well, he sounds corporate. With that kind of money goes power, so it’s quite conceivable that he’s paying to clean up some mess that his darling little girl got into.’

  Dulcie almost interrupted. As much as she was predisposed to dislike a rich girl, and a beautiful one at that, she didn’t see Raleigh as a spoiled brat who would run to her father to be bailed out. She was about to say something about this – something about how maybe it was personal, that despite her denial Raleigh had been involved with Cameron – when Ariano chimed in.

  ‘Listen to you.’ He was smiling, his broad grin showing white teeth in his black beard. ‘Looking for murderers in the attic! Why not assume the simple solution. Lloyd has found himself a wealthy girlfriend, and she’s helping him out. I don’t know the guy, but I say more power to him!’

  There was silence as five members of the university community absorbed his words. Then everyone started talking at once.

  ‘Impossible.’ ‘Breach of ethics.’ ‘Ariano, love, you just don’t understand.’ This last was from Suze, and she held up her hand for silence from the rest. ‘Lloyd is a graduate student. Raleigh is an undergrad in the same department. That’s as off limits as it gets.’

  ‘Oh come on.’ Ariano was still smiling, and he reached out to put his hand on Suze’s knee. ‘You’re going to tell me that it never happens? The handsome young professor and the beautiful student?’

  ‘A professor, maybe, if he was tenured.’ Dulcie jumped in. ‘But you don’t know Lloyd. He lives for his work, but he’s nowhere near anything like a tenure-track position. Not yet. If he were to get involved with someone like Raleigh, it would be the end of everything.’ She paused, her own suspicions breaking through. ‘I have to say, though, I wouldn’t have put something like that past Cameron. He was an arrogant son of a gun.’

  ‘And handsome, too,’ said Trista in such a voice that Jerry turned to stare. ‘I’m only saying,’ she responded. ‘Plus, he wasn’t like Lloyd. I had the feeling he always had an eye for the outside opportunity. He wasn’t going to end up Bullock’s boy, no way.’

  ‘Hey, isn’t that Roger Gosham?’ Dulcie wanted to hear more, but the appearance of the craggy bookbinder had thrown her. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘The rare books guy?’ Trista strained her neck to see. ‘I’m betting the same thing we are.’

  Dulcie turned to watch as Gosham – it was definitely him – made his way to the bar. ‘Is Polly with him?’

  ‘No, why?’ Only Chris and Suze had heard the full story, and so Dulcie briefly explained. ‘So I think they’re a couple.’

  ‘I don’t see it.’ Trista gave the bookbinder one last look and then turned back to the table. ‘Last time I saw them together, they weren’t getting along too well.’

  Dulcie turned toward her, as Chris signaled the waitress for another pitcher. ‘Tell.’

  ‘It was . . . hell, it was the day Cameron was killed. Polly was coming out of Gosham’s building, and he came after her.’

  Dulcie leaned in, intrigued. She’d known that Polly had come from Gosham’s, but this sounded like more than business.

  ‘He was angry,’ Trista continued. ‘He grabbed her arm, and she pulled away and went running.’

  Dulcie mulled that one over. ‘Could it have been a lovers’ quarrel? Maybe over Cameron? And maybe he . . .’ She left the thought hanging.

  ‘And so he ran off and killed his rival?’ Trista grimaced. ‘I don’t see it. He wouldn’t have known that Cameron would be there – or that Polly wouldn’t have gone straight to Bullock’s. Besides, I can’t see Cameron with Polly. I mean, she isn’t – wasn’t – in Cameron’s league.’

  ‘But Gosham does seem to be kind of a rough type,’ offered Dulcie.

  ‘He’s a wannabe,’ Trista countered. ‘He completely fawns over Bullock.’

  ‘Those aren’t contradictory traits,’ Suze broke in. ‘In fact, you could say he epitomizes the town-gown struggle. As a rare book dealer, he’s completely dependent on the university, and on the professors’ patronage. But on his time off . . .’

  ‘Maybe he just likes to have a pint,’ Ariano finished for her. The pitcher had arrived, and he poured them each a round.

  ‘Maybe.�
� Dulcie still wasn’t convinced. In fact, the Bullock connection seemed another link between the bookbinder and the bookish assistant. But when no Polly surfaced, she gave it up. Soon conversation had moved on. It always amazed Dulcie how current her friends could stay on television shows. She barely had time to get her work done. But while Jerry and Ariano got into a heated debate about ‘American Idol,’ she left her seat and sidled over to Trista.

  ‘Tris, what you were saying – about Cameron?’ She left it open, but her friend looked up at her, waiting. ‘Do you, well, was there something going on with him?’ she finally asked.

  She shrugged. ‘He did like the ladies.’

  ‘Tris?’

  ‘Nothing happened.’ The pixie-like blonde looked over at her boyfriend, but he was still engaged in a heated debate about Paula Abdul. ‘It was during one of Jerry’s more Sox-obsessed weeks last spring, and Cameron had that way of tuning out the world, just focusing on you and your life. I’ve got to admit, I was tempted.’

  Dulcie cringed. Would she ever be able to think of their handsome colleague without seeing him as she had last, so bloody and so still? Trista saw her reaction – and misinterpreted it.

  ‘He wasn’t that bad.’ She kept her voice low, but there was something insistent in it. ‘I mean, he liked nice things, but, hey, don’t we all?’

  ‘Depends if you’re the “nice thing,” or not.’ Somehow, Dulcie was having a hard time seeing her friend with Cameron. Trista made a face. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘No, no, you’re right.’ Trista raised her hands in surrender. ‘But you know, maybe that’s your connection. Raleigh’s a rich girl – maybe that made her worth the risk.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Dulcie leaned back in her chair, trying to put the pieces together. ‘But where does Lloyd fit into this? I mean, what’s up with him?’

  Trista shrugged. ‘Maybe Ariano’s right and he’s seeing Raleigh?’

  Dulcie shook her head. ‘I just don’t see it. I mean, on top of everything else, look at him.’