by Joan Hess
“No, nothing at all. It’s been three days now, and I do hope the police will take her disappearance more seriously. Her mother has been calling me at ail hours of the day and night, and there’s nothing I can tell her Rebecca and Pippa are quite sure Debbie Anne doesn’t have a boyfriend. I called those few girls who were her friends during the year. They could suggest nothing, and none of them has heard from her This is by far the most inconsiderate stunt she’s ever pulled. That girl will never be a Kappa.”
“Do you have a copy of her class schedule? I thought I might speak to her professors and see if any of them have any ideas.” I held my breath and smiled with the shiny expectancy of a rushee.
“I suppose I do, but it’s inside and Katie has an appointment at the vet’s office.” She hesitated, then said, “I’ll go get you a copy. It certainly can’t hurt to speak to them, and if we don’t find her soon, I’m going to lose my temper and be brusque with Mrs. Wray. You hold Katie while I go back inside.”
The cat was thrust into my arms in a manner not unlike that I’d utilized with the camera. “Don’t do this! Please!” I said, but Winkle was already on her way to the door, muttering about late-night calls and inconsiderate girls. It took the eat only a few seconds to realize what treachery had befallen her, and she let out a yowl of outrage that emphasized her shared ancestry with jungle cats. Less than a second later, she bit me on the hand so viciously that I instinctively flung her to the ground as I stumbled backward.
I gaped first at the blood welling from the jagged wound, and then at a flash of white as the cat vanished into the shrubbery. Blinking back tears, I fumbled in my purse for a tissue and tried unsuccessfully to stop the blood. The wound throbbed so sharply that I began to feel light-headed. I sank down on the lawn and cradled my hand, oblivious to my surroundings, and therefore was startled when Winkie said, “What happened? Where’s Katie? Why are you behaving so oddly?”
I showed her the bite and grimly related the story. “And she ran that way,” I said, gesturing with my uninjured hand. I did not continue with a description of what I dearly hoped the animal would encounter on its escape route.
“This is dreadful,” Winkie said. “We must take action immediately, Claire.”
“The bleeding has stopped, and I don’t think I’ll need stitches. I have some iodine at my-”
“We must find Katie,” she interrupted sternly. “Her appointment at the vet is in less than an hour. I was taking her there so that she can be rendered incapable of reproduction. An irresponsible individual knocked the screen off my window several days ago, and Katie spent the night outside the house. I don’t intend to have kittens underfoot in that cramped apartment.” She went to the pertinent shrub and called, “Here, kitty kitty kitty. Come on, Katie; that woman won’t hurt you again. Come to Winkie.”
I stood up, the tissue still pressed to my hand, and tried to stir up a trace of sympathy from her “She bit me once before. I tried to tell you when you shoved her at me.”
“That’s ridiculous. Katie doesn’t bite.” She held out a piece of paper. “Here’s Debbie Anne’s class schedule. I think I’d better go back inside and have a glass of wine. Being a housemother isn’t easy by any means, but this is becoming more than I can bear. Eleanor will have to find someone else for the remainder of the summer term. The pressure’s entirely too much for me.” She went into the house without so much as a glance at my bloodied tissue. Kappa Theta Eta housemothers were not, apparently, instructed in the gentle art of first aid.
After I’d doctored the wound as best I could, I set off toward the campus, fantasizing about a rustic cabin somewhere in the woods. No one sat beside me on the deck as the sun sank behind the mountains; I was alone with a glass of scotch and a plate of crackers and cheese. I amended it to freshly baked bread and expensive Brie. No one whined, complained, bit me, badgered me, scolded me, or, most of all, sent me into the arms of a tattooed motorcyclist while reclining with a member of the campus security force.
I went into the yellow brick building that housed the education department. Since it was summer school, Debbie Anne was taking only two classes, and at that moment should have been in a classroom being instructed in Reading Readiness Skills, a.k.a. EE1009.
“Whatever they are,” I growled, then accosted a perky young thing in jeans and asked where the room was. The door was ajar, and I hovered in the hall until I determined that Debbie Anne was not among the half-dozen girls numbly gazing at a blackboard as an elderly woman droned at them.
The instructor of Developmental Psychology (EE1147) was not in his or her office, unless he or she was cowering behind a locked door A second perky young thing informed me that classes would be out in ten minutes, and she didn’t know when I might catch Professor Costandaza. She herself had taken the psych course from Professor Simpson because he was “an absolute hunk” and it was all she could do not to “like literally seduce him right there on the desk, you know.”
Fearing for the future of civilization, I read the notices on the bulletin board, gleaming tidbits about symposiums on A-V equipment, potluck dinners, and opportunities to study abroad for a zillion dollars. Eventually something buzzed and students drifted out of classrooms. I went to the original room. The woman was packing her briefcase, and was minimally cordial when I introduced myself and told her my proposed topic.
She consulted her watch, sighed, and said, “I have a faculty meeting in fifteen minutes. I heard about the Wray girl on the local news last night, and there was something in the newspaper Very sad business, that, but faculty meetings come right after death and taxes.”
“I was hoping you could tell me about Debbie Anne. Everyone seems to have a strong opinion about her, but also a biased one.”
“When I watched the news, I tried to remember what I could of her I had her last spring in a class, and again this semester. She was shy and quiet, rarely contributing to the discussion, turning in ordinary, uninspired work.” She paused to think. “I do recall being surprised when she wore a sorority sweatshirt to class one day. Fewer and fewer of them major in education these days, but I used to have hordes of them in my classes-to my dismay. Now, I understand, they’re all majoring in business. She didn’t seem the sorority type.”
“Did Debbie Anne ever cheat or lose her temper?”
The woman picked up her briefcase. “No one cheats in Reading Readiness Skills; it’s much too easy. As for losing her temper, I don’t know that she has one to lose Mrs. Malloy. She’s just one of those drab, modestly intelligent, poorly prepared girls from a little town. If this hadn’t happened, she’d squeak by, graduate, and go teach in another little town in order to send us more poorly prepared girls.”
I went outside and sat on a stone bench. For the first time in nearly three days, I’d made progress, albeit measurable in millimeters rather than leaps and bounds. Debbie Anne Wray was a soggy-nosed ninny, accepted into the sorority by an economic imperative and rejected by a social one. Jean Hall had forced her to do something illegal, and this had sent Debbie Anne into hiding. Someone else had gained access to Debbie Anne’s car key and run Jean down in the alley.
There were a few minor unanswered questions, to be sure, along the lines of who and what and when and where and why and how, but I wasn’t nearly as confused as I’d been earlier. Contemplating my next target, I stood up, smiled vaguely at a couple of students, and decided to go back to the Book Depot, where I could make lists in the amateur-sleuth tradition. I would be the sole champion of the cause-the innocence of Debbie Anne. The police detectives could sit and wait. I would take action, make brilliant deductions, identify the guilty, and rescue the innocent.
And this time, I told myself, Claire Malloy would not cringe from the limelight and allow the police to take all the credit. I’d grant interviews, appear on the evening news, pose for photographs in front of the Book Depot. If the mayor insisted on giving me some sort of award for my civic-minded behavior, I’d accept it with becoming modesty.
/> As I came around the corner of the library, I was practicing smiles rather than paying any attention whatsoever to the trickle of pedestrians. I thudded into someone, stumbled back, and looked up to offer an apology (with becoming modesty, of course). And found myself face to face with the man in the moon. I goggled at him; he goggled at me.
“You!” I croaked.
He quit goggling and gave me a shove hard enough to send me across the sidewalk and into a very old, very hard tree trunk. My head hit first and then snapped forward, pain ripped along my shoulder, and all the breath swooshed out of my lungs. I fell to the ground, fighting to fend off swirls of blackness and to regain my breath.
“Are you okay?” asked a voice so close that I nearly screamed.
I opened my eyes. The boy squatting in front of me had dark hair and a lean, nearly cadaverous face. I finally found enough oxygen to say, “The man in the moon-I mean, the man who knocked me down-did you see him?”
“I saw someone go around the corner, but I didn’t get a good look at him. Maybe you’d better stay down for a few more minutes until everything stops spinning.” He looked over his shoulder at a huddle of students. “Somebody call the campus cops and tell ‘em it’s an assault.”
“No,” I said, but as I tried to straighten up, the black blotches flooded my eyes and my ears reverberated as if I’d taken residence in the bell tower… or the belfry.
“Just lean back, ma’am,” the boy said patronizingly, no doubt certain he knew what was best for an incapacitated octogenarian who’d identified her assailant as the man in the moon.
“Oh wow, it’s Mrs. Malloy!” Pippa squealed as she dropped her books and knelt beside me. “What happened? Did you faint? Caron mentioned that you’re experiencing menopause, and that can make you dizzy or-”
“Someone pushed me,” I muttered. There weren’t very many students in summer school, but the sidewalk was so crowded that most of them must have been drawn to the drama.
“That’s awful! Who?”
“A man,” I said sourly, daring the boy to say a single word. He obligingly stared at the ground. “I crashed into him as I came around the corner, and he overreacted to the lapse in etiquette.”
Pippa dimpled indignantly. “Some men are just plain bullies, aren’t they? My mother was playing golf last week and these men played through without any concern for safety or common courtesy. They let anyone in the club these days. Oh, good, here come the campus cops. Maybe it’s not too late to find this man. He didn’t try to molest you, did he?”
“In the middle of the afternoon next to the library? No, Pippa, he merely removed me from his path.” I recognized one of the uniformed officers approaching as Officer Terrance. The other was a woman, tall and lithe, moving gracefully. I slumped back against the tree trunk and willed myself to pass out. I scrunched my eyes closed. I held my breath. I told myself that the gender of the officer was a coincidence and that I’d had my quota for the day. For the year. I debated whether to make a deal with the devil. What was the worth of my soul compared to the impending humiliation?
“Mrs. Malloy,” I heard Terrance say with what I felt was inadequate surprise. “Do you need medical attention?”
“No, I’ll be fine in a minute.” I opened one eye to a slit. There on the woman’s name tag was the dreaded word:
Pipkin. It was preceded by a less specific M, as in Marion or Melinda or Mockery. There had to be a way to force myself into unconsciousness, I thought as I closed the eye and concentrated on the rough bark cutting into my back. My head ached dully, but I knew within the hour it would feel like the beach during a hurricane. My hand still throbbed where the cat had bitten it. I was not enamored of this latest quaint coincidence.
“She muttered something about the man in the moon,” my traitorous savior was saying in a low voice. “I caught a glimpse of an older guy heading past the agri building. He was walking briskly, not running.”
Pippa squeezed my knee. “Here’s your purse, Mrs. Malloy. I gathered up all your things for you. Do you want to try and stand up now? I know more about the psychological aspects of shock than the physical, but your color’s come back.” She paused, then with what I suspected was a tactful dimple, added, “You really shouldn’t wear navy.”
That did it. I opened my eyes, and from under a much lowered brow, glowered at her. “I do not need a Beautiful Self analysis to be assaulted in my proper palette!” I brushed off her hand and made it to my feet. “I can describe the man, Officer Thrrance. This is the first time I’ve been this close, and I only had a brief moment before he knocked me down, but I know what I saw.”
“I’m Officer Pipkin,” the woman said with professional compassion that didn’t fool me. “We’d appreciate it if you’d accompany us to the office, and on the way we can swing by the infirmary to let them check you or give you an aspirin.”
“Thank you for your solicitousness, Officer Pipkin,” I said. I touched the lump on the back of my head and wished I hadn’t. “The skin’s not broken, and I have ample medication at home. I’d prefer to get this over as quickly as possible.”
Officer Terrance cleared his throat. “You said this is the first time you’d been so close. Does this mean you’ve seen this man before-say, on the third floor of the Kappa Theta Eta house?”
“We can discuss it at your office,” I said firmly.
Pippa patted my arm. “Oh, Winkie told us how you freaked out when you saw a reflection in the window. She said you called the police to report we had a prowler, when it was nothing more than the man in the moon! Don’t you think that’s too priceless?”
10
The campus police department was housed in a relatively new metal building on the far side of the football stadium. Students grumbled as they stood in line to pay traffic tickets at a counter, and others sat dispiritedly on a bench in the hallway. Uniformed officers moved inside a glass-walled room filled with electronic equipment. Unlike the local jail, there was nothing in the air here more sinister than the staleness of a modern office building with sealed windows.
Officer Terrance escorted me to a conference room decorated with maps of the campus and posters that admonished us not to overindulge. Officer Pipkin joined us with a tray holding mugs of coffee, packets of sugar, and a jar of powdered pseudo-cream.
While she busied herself playing hostess, I took a harder look at her, strictly out of curiosity. She appeared to be no more than thirty years old, with short dark hair, a pleasant face, a trim body, and the implicit strength and agility of a gymnast. She’d spoken only a few words while we drove to the department, but her voice held no trace of a regional accent. I had not yet decided if it had held an edge of amusement.
“Now then, Ms. Malloy,” she said as she placed a clipboard on the table, “could you please tell us what happened?”
Officer Terrance glanced at his watch and pushed back his chair “Dammit, I nearly forgot that I have to pick up my wife’s sister at the airport. Can you handle this on your own, Officer Pipkin?”
“I’ll muddle through, Officer Terrance.” She waited until he was gone, then gave me a quirky grin. “All by my little lonesome, too. I’ve been on the force three years longer than he has, and could have been his baby-sitter when he was in disposable diapers. I’m a second-degree black belt in karate, have better scores on the firing range, and am working on a masters degree in personnel management. It’s not impossible to understand why some women become cloistered nuns, you know?”
“I know,” I said, determined to maintain a civil distance between us. This could have been a ruse. For all I knew, she was wearing a concealed microphone and Lieutenant Rosen of the Farberville CID was in the adjoining room, peering through a peephole and smirking as he eavesdropped. “I’d like to get this over with, if you don’t mind. My head’s beginning to ache. I came around the corner of the library, and-”
“Why were you on the campus, Ms. Malloy?”
Name, rank, and serial number, I told myself stif
fly. “It was such a lovely afternoon that I thought I’d go over to the senior walk and read the names, admire the flowers, toss a few coins in the fountain in front of the student union. I came around the corner, admittedly lost in reverie, and crashed into that man. Perhaps he reacted reflexively, and when he realized what he’d done, panicked and fled.”
She held a pen in her hand, but she was not scribbling frantically. “Did you get a good look at him?”
“About five foot seven, maybe shorter, small pale eyes, very thin blond hair that gives him the illusion of baldness, and a distinctively round, white face. Anywhere from fifty to seventy years old, I’m afraid. That type of babyish face is hard to read.”
“Wearing…?“ she murmured, now at least taking notes.
I winced as I tried to remember. “Sorry, I didn’t notice. This encounter lasted only two or three seconds, and then I was slumped against the tree while the fireworks and the sirens went off. I didn’t see anything for a while.”
She gave me a disturbingly acute look. “And have you ever seen this man before, Ms. Malloy? Please, take your time. If you’d like, I can see if anyone has aspirin.”
“I have aspirin in my purse.” I wasn’t sure how to answer her question, and opted to consider it while I dug through my purse for the little metal box. My fingers finally encountered it, but there was something missing, something I was accustomed to touching, to hear jingling. I put the aspirin box on the table and said, “Could I please have a cup of water?”
As soon as she was gone, I opened my purse and searched again for my key ring. I’d walked to the Book Depot, rather than driving, and when I returned home to tend to my cat bite, I’d assumed that Caron had left our front door unlocked. But I had unlocked the store, which meant I’d had the key ring in my purse. And had not removed it.
Officer Pipkin returned with the water “You seem a little dazed, Ms. Malloy. Please let me take you to the infirmary, so they can make sure you didn’t suffer a mild concussion, and then I’ll drive you home. Tomorrow, or whenever you feel up to it, I’d like to ask a few more questions, and let you look at some mug shots at the Farberville Police Department.”