by Clea Simon
‘Raleigh?’ No, it couldn’t be. As she’d been looking around, she thought she had seen the pretty undergrad rushing, head down, from behind Lloyd’s building to the nearly identical one next door. She’d caught a glimpse of long chestnut hair and longer legs. But young women were far from rare in Cambridge, and when the dark-haired girl didn’t look up, Dulcie shrugged. She was seeing familiar faces everywhere this morning. And right behind her, she heard a voice.
‘Dulcie?’ It was Lloyd. ‘You wanted to talk?’
She jumped. ‘Oh, yes!’ Suddenly, she felt flustered. ‘Sorry to show up unannounced. But, well, is there some place we could sit?’
He looked at her, concern on his pale, round face. ‘What is it, Dulcie?’
‘I need to go to the police, Lloyd.’ She hadn’t wanted it to be like this, standing on the sidewalk in the middle of Cambridgeport. But every moment she waited just made the burden worse. He had asked, and it just came out. ‘I need to tell them what I know.’
‘Dulcie.’ He looked exasperated, rather than angry, and Dulcie took heart. ‘What do you know?’
‘About the book, Lloyd. About the wrapped package I saw on your desk. And that Professor Bullock had reported a book missing, and now you’re saying that this book supposedly didn’t exist.’ She took a breath. ‘And I know that you’ve been buying books in his name, Lloyd. I don’t know what any of it means, but something’s going on. I know it is, and I think the police should know, too. But, well, we’re friends. Officemates, anyway. And so I wanted to come and tell you that I was going to do it.’ Saying that gave her courage. ‘I mean, you could come to the police with me.’
‘Yeah, maybe I should.’
That startled her. ‘You will?’
He nodded. ‘I just needed some more info first.’ He motioned to the stoop and Dulcie followed him. The concrete was cold, but it felt more congenial to be sitting side by side, even if they were only facing a sagging triple-decker. ‘I called that dealer back. The message you took for me? And he’s confirmed it. There’s something wrong with that book Bullock was so excited about.’
‘What do you mean?’ How could a book be “wrong”?’
Lloyd shook his head. ‘I don’t know yet. I’m working on it.’ Dulcie looked at him, and he sighed. ‘Dulcie, things have been weird for a while now.’
‘Yes?’ Dulcie could hear the trepidation in her own voice. Whatever was going on, Lloyd was involved. Now that he was about to tell her, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know.
‘You know I work pretty closely with Bullock, right?’ She nodded. ‘Well, it started out just as research. But recently, my duties, such as they are, have been growing. For instance, he’s been having me check the provenance of any book he was interested in, having me do the paperwork. Handle the actual purchase for him.’
The auction report. Dulcie nodded.
‘Now, with Gosham, that’s never been a problem. He’s used to working with Bullock. He’s been selling to him for years. Every now and then, Bullock gives him something back to sell. Like, when he got that first-edition Sterne?’ Dulcie didn’t know about that, but she nodded anyway. ‘It was in better shape than the one he had, so he got Gosham to fix it up, list it online. Got a good price for it, too. But over the last few months, he’s been getting a little crazy.’
‘Roger Gosham?’ Dulcie remembered the bookbinder’s outbursts, both at Polly and herself. But Lloyd was shaking his head. ‘No, Bullock. He’s been in a sort of frenzy, selling stuff that I know he cares about – and then buying books without really thinking about them. Books he already has copies of, books that, well, have dubious origins. A few times, I had to step in when he was going to make purchases without checking out the wares first. That’s what gave me my first clue. I’ve learned that I’ve got to be careful. In some ways, I’ve become his protector.’
A city bus drove by with a cloud of exhaust and the two jumped up, coughing. ‘Lloyd? What are you talking about? What do you mean by protector? I mean, you took his book – and now you’re saying there’s something wrong with it?’
‘It is a fake, Dulcie. A forgery. Very well done, but not the real thing.’ Lloyd stared after the bus, his round face grown sad. ‘Browning Antiquarian is the top Elizabethan expert in the country. I told Bullock I suspected as much. That’s why he got so angry at me.’
‘But why? I mean, it’s not your fault, unless you—’ She paused, the central question coming back to her. ‘You didn’t buy it for him, did you?’ Lloyd shook his head. ‘Then how did Bullock get it?’
Lloyd was still staring after the bus. ‘I don’t know, Dulcie. I don’t know how that book got into his collection. I think, maybe, things have finally progressed too far for me to control.’
‘For you to—’ Dulcie reached out to Lloyd and he turned to her. ‘Lloyd, I don’t understand, but first things first. What are you going to tell him? And what did you mean when you said the book didn’t exist?’
‘It may as well never have.’ He shrugged, a small smile on his face. ‘You see, Bullock hasn’t seen that book for over a week now. He’s probably forgotten that it ever existed.’
FIFTY-SEVEN
In retrospect, it all made perfect sense, and as Lloyd explained, Dulcie found herself plugging in the details. Everyone knew that Professor Bullock was slipping. Hadn’t the department made moves to push him toward retirement? But nobody knew the extent of his decline.
‘At first, I thought he was just tired or something. Then, I just felt bad for him. I don’t know if it’s Alzheimer’s or what,’ Lloyd was saying. ‘Some days, he’s still as sharp as a tack. But on his bad days . . .’ Lloyd shook his head. ‘The problem is partly that he knows, at some level, what’s going on. And he hates it – and hates anyone who knows it. So, on one hand, he’s taken me into his confidence. He trusts me to look out for him. But then sometimes he lashes out. In fact, when I first heard about Cameron, I was afraid . . .’ He looked at Dulcie for confirmation, but she shook her head.
‘No way. I was with him. Unless you think he could have planned it?’
‘He’s not capable.’ Lloyd grimaced. ‘I mean, I don’t think he could be organized enough anymore. The most he can do is get angry and react.’
‘The arrest?’
‘Yeah.’ Lloyd looked grim. ‘He was really unhappy with me that day.’
‘So, the pen and the letter opener probably weren’t stolen.’ Dulcie found herself piecing things together. ‘Probably nothing was, no matter what Polly said.’
Lloyd shrugged. ‘Polly.’ His voice was noncommittal, but it didn’t convey respect.
‘She doesn’t know?’ Dulcie found that hard to believe.
‘I don’t know what she knows.’ Lloyd paused and then looked at Dulcie. ‘Or what she wants to believe. She’s got some issues, and he’s like her god, you know?’
Dulcie nodded. ‘Yeah, I believe it. I wonder what she’ll do?’
‘He’ll need someone to look after him. I don’t think he has any family.’
With that word, something occurred to Dulcie. A wave of relief flooded over her, and she felt her troubles washed away. ‘What did you say?’
‘That Bullock has no family?’
‘No, but I do.’ As quickly as she could, Dulcie explained Lucy’s vision to Lloyd. ‘So here I’ve been terrified that The Ravages of Umbria is an elaborate forgery. But maybe that’s not what she was talking about. Except . . .’ The other shoe dropped. ‘Oh, hell.’ She sunk her face in her hands. The anthology. The phrase. It wasn’t all in Lucy’s head.
‘What?’ Lloyd bent down to look into her face. ‘Come on, it can’t be that bad.’
‘Yes, it can.’ She turned to face her friend. ‘And now neither of us has a competent senior faculty member to help us out.’
Sick at heart, Dulcie didn’t feel like talking about it. Besides, they had been sitting at the side of the road for more than a half-hour by then. They both had sections at ten, and so Dulcie to
ok Lloyd’s hand and let him pull her to her feet.
‘We should tell the cops, you know.’ The concept was collegial now, not threatening.
‘Yeah, we should.’ Lloyd still didn’t look happy about the idea. ‘Especially now that I’ve heard from Browning.’
‘Are you worried?’ After all, Dulcie wasn’t the only one who had hitched her wagon to Bullock. Lloyd was not only further along on his doctorate, he also counted on the professor for employment. When news of Bullock’s increasing incapacity broke, he would end up looking bad, the scapegoat for the delayed cover-up. Plus, everything he had written or published under Bullock’s auspices would be suspect.
‘It’s not fair,’ said Dulcie, once Lloyd had pointed this out. ‘I mean, if anything, it should be the opposite way around. You should be getting more credit. You’ve been doing his work for ages.’
Lloyd smiled at her. ‘Thanks. In truth, he hasn’t done much. And he’s good on automatic pilot. I’ve just been doing my own research and trying to keep him out of trouble at book auctions. But what are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know.’ Dulcie shook her head. In some ways, she’d be like Raleigh, launched on a thesis and suddenly without an adviser. The thought of the pretty undergrad brought to mind the figure she had seen, flitting between the buildings. ‘Hey, Lloyd. Does Raleigh live around here?’
‘No. I mean, I don’t think so.’ He looked flustered. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Nothing.’ It had been a full morning, and the two were now back in Central Square. ‘So, you want to go talk to the cops?’
Lloyd looked at his watch. ‘Not if I want to keep one of my jobs. I’ve got a tutorial in ten minutes.’ Dulcie raised her eyebrows. ‘But I will, Dulcie. I promise. This afternoon.’
Dulcie felt like she was sleepwalking for the rest of the day. For one section, she just let her students argue. (‘Well, that imagery doesn’t seem very metaphysical to me!’ It wasn’t worth clarifying.) Even her junior tutorial floated by.
‘Dulcie? Miss Schwartz?’ Lindsay, her most annoying student, actually looked worried.
‘Sorry,’ she’d smiled in response. ‘Thesis worries.’
‘In this economy, I’m not surprised,’ her student had sat back, pleased with having gotten a response. ‘My mother says that anybody who goes for an advanced degree in the humanities these days should be independently wealthy. Or certified.’ Her expression was smug, challenging, but Dulcie refused to rise to the bait.
By the middle of the afternoon, she realized that she just didn’t have the energy to go to the police. Yes, she had promised Suze and Chris as well, but so much had happened since last night. And now she was about to be cast adrift, a grad student without a thesis adviser. Without, possibly, a thesis. In response, she found herself heading over to Widener. She could completely understand Lloyd’s reluctance to say anything. As long as the problem wasn’t public, they could pretend it didn’t exist. Maybe they could wait until she just had something on paper.
With a start, she remembered that she was supposed to be meeting with Bullock the next day. And she was supposed to be able to report on her progress. Poor Professor Bullock! The thought came to her unbidden. No wonder he wanted her to show some tangible results. He was fighting for his position – for his sanity, really. Well, it wouldn’t hurt her to give it one more day – and maybe in the long run, having some paper filed in some office saying that she’d made significant progress on her thesis would do them both good, the student and the teacher.
Of course, that would all disappear if Lloyd had already talked to the cops. As she made her way across the Yard, she dialed his number. ‘Lloyd, I was thinking,’ she said to his voicemail. For all she knew, he was already in the Central Square police station, telling all. ‘If, well, if you haven’t spoken to the police yet, maybe we could wait? I’ve got a meeting with Bullock tomorrow.’ She paused. He would understand, wouldn’t he? ‘Well, maybe you’re already there. Let me know, will you?’ And with that, she snapped the phone shut and ascended the stairs to her last refuge, the wide grey library that held so many of her dreams.
FIFTY-EIGHT
‘One more day . . .’ Dulcie couldn’t block that thought from her mind, as she pulled reference works and piled them in front of her on the carrel. ‘One more day,’ she muttered as she stared at their covers, unsure whether even to open them. How could she focus on a thesis that already seemed to be unraveling – for an adviser who also seemed to be unraveling? For the first time in ages, the quiet hum of the library felt ominous. A spirit waiting for her to falter, waiting for her to fail. ‘One. More. Day.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
The voice caused her to spin around, knocking the books off the carrel top.
‘Oh, please!’ The vision of Mr Grey wincing, as cats will at loud noises, flashed in her mind, and Dulcie found herself apologizing.
‘Mr Grey! I’m so sorry. It’s just that, well, everything is falling apart.’ Somewhere, a set of large grey ears flicked, and Dulcie found herself getting a little peeved. ‘Seriously, Mr Grey. This is important to me.’
‘I’m not dismissing your emotions, Dulcie.’ The deep, calm voice sounded a little condescending to Dulcie. ‘I’m simply questioning the validity of your concerns.’
‘That’s because you’re a cat.’ Dulcie heard the nasty tone creeping into her voice. ‘Or, you were a cat.’ Silence. ‘Mr Grey?’ She tried to picture her late pet, how his tail would lash and those velvety ears would turn back and flatten. In the hum of the ventilation system, Dulcie thought she heard something more threatening. A growl, perhaps? And suddenly the enormity of her thoughtless reaction hit her. ‘Mr Grey, I’m sorry! Please don’t leave me.’ Her eyes filled up with tears.
‘Now, now, kitten. Why would I leave you?’
Dulcie sobbed with relief, but dashed the few escaping tears from her face with the back of her hand. ‘It’s just been such a difficult time.’ She swallowed the lump in her throat. If she lost Mr Grey, she didn’t know what she’d do.
‘You know, you do have others in your life now. New friends to lean on.’
His voice was warm, but his words pushed her near to tears once again. ‘It’s not the same, Mr Grey. I mean, I’m not even sure what’s going on with Chris. And Suze is . . .’ She couldn’t think of how to explain what was happening with Suze. ‘I don’t really know if I have anybody, Mr Grey. Nobody like you.’
‘Trust goes both ways, Dulcie.’ Dulcie sniffed. Yes, he was right. She was going to have to talk to Suze – and to Chris, too. ‘And there are others in your life, too. Some whom you haven’t even named.’
‘Lloyd? Yeah, I do trust him, Mr Grey. And Helene, too.’ The thought of her stolid and businesslike neighbor gone all goofy over her kittens was cheering, and Dulcie felt her equilibrium returning. ‘I guess everything has just been getting to me. My thesis and, well, what happened with Cameron . . .’
‘Hmmm . . .’ The sound was akin to a purr. ‘Be careful what you take on, kitten. And keep in mind, sometimes when we get bitten, it’s because we’ve been chasing our own tail.’ Mr Grey’s voice was fading, and Dulcie sat up and strained to hear.
‘Do you mean I’m looking for trouble?’ Deep in her heart, Dulcie wanted to believe that was true. That The Ravages of Umbria was really all she’d hoped it was and that all her fears were based on her misinterpretation of Lucy’s dream. ‘But there was that quote, and if you look at the dates—’
‘Character counts, Dulcie. Character can be motive.’ The voice was getting softer. ‘Remember, the key is in the book.’
‘Mr Grey?’ It was no use. Something in the air – the humming of the ventilation system, or the far-off footsteps of another researcher in the stacks – told her that Mr Grey was gone.
Still, his visit had been heartening. ‘Maybe I was looking for trouble,’ Dulcie muttered to herself. ‘And anyway, I still have that meeting tomorrow.’ And so, blocking out all thoughts of who that meetin
g was with – a barely functional professor who was likely soon to lose his university position – she hunkered down and got to work.
A shade then, more mystical than wild . . . Before long, Dulcie was caught up again in the magic. Did it matter, really, when the book had been written, or by whom? What mattered was the magic of the words. The story. The characters.
Dulcie thought back to what Mr Grey had said. So she didn’t trust people? Couldn’t judge character? Who could blame her, when a nasty Demetria might be lurking. No, she shook her head. Suze was a good and faithful friend. It’s just that she had moved on. Just like Mr Grey had moved on, leaving her with only the kitten. The klutzy, mute kitten.
Something tickled at Dulcie’s consciousness, but she was too distracted to make it out. Time for a break, she decided, looking at her watch. And nearly time for dinner.
‘Chris? It’s me. Just wanted to know if you wanted to grab something to eat.’ Dulcie’s heart sank as she left the message. He’d been so eager for her to go to the police, but he hadn’t even touched base to ask how it had gone. Of course, she had to admit as she trotted down the wide library steps, she hadn’t actually spoken to the police. But did he know that?
‘Dulcie . . .’ Dulcie whipped around, sure she’d heard Mr Grey’s voice. But the only people on the steps were a group of Japanese tourists, all listening as the guide spoke loudly from the top. It didn’t matter; she knew she was being silly.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Grey.’ She whispered as she trotted the rest of the way down. ‘I’ll try to be a little more fair to everyone. If I get through tomorrow, anyway.’
‘Dulcie?’
‘Sorry.’ She looked around at the grey clouds scudding across the sky. Already the shadows were lengthening, the day growing frigid. ‘As soon as I get through tomorrow. That’s what I meant.’
A dry oak leaf, caught in a gust, slapped against her face, its pointed edges momentarily scraping against her cheek before flying off. ‘Point taken, Mr Grey.’