“Not lately. Haven’t been to a road race in over six months. Wendy’s into working out.”
“Ah, Wendy. Does she help with dorm duties?”
“Surely you jest.”
I hate that expression, but with herculean willpower I bit back a sarcastic remark. “What does Wendy do for a living?”
“Clips coupons and works out, mostly. Her father’s Ronald Gold, of Gold’s Markets.” When he spied my blank expression, he smiled. “Oh, that’s right. You’re not from around here. Gold’s is the largest chain of organic supermarkets from the Berkshires to the Mississippi. Only a matter of time before they swallow up that chain of yours, what’s it called?”
“Whole Foods?” So, Wendy was not only a bimbo, she was a filthy rich bimbo. “How nice for you.”
He paused for a minute before replying. “I’ll be honest, I don’t plan on teaching forever. I’ve been at Whitley fifteen years and I’m ready for a change.”
“That means you and Carolyn started the same year?”
“Yup, rookies together.”
“And good friends.”
“On and off.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means we shared some of the same interests, like running, but not others.”
“What other interests did you share?”
“Not all that many, to tell the truth. Carolyn was a little artsy for me, you know?”
I didn’t, but I kept my opinions to myself. “She was well-liked by the students, wasn’t she?”
“Most.”
“What about the faculty?”
He shrugged. “People liked her well enough, but she wasn’t always a team player.”
“How so?”
“You know the type.”
“I’m afraid I don’t. Please enlighten me.”
“You know, fell all over the students. They followed her around like puppy dogs. It gets a little old for the rest of us. We’re busy trying to act like professionals and here comes Carolyn blurring the lines all over the place. She was continually crossing boundaries of propriety between students and staff, faculty and staff, and on and on. Could be quite awkward, you know, her relationships with students, maintenance folks, and so forth. Put the rest of us in difficult positions.”
“Sounds like what people say about Mr. Phelps.”
I stopped at the Round House gate.
“Yeah, Carolyn and Jared were a lot alike in some ways. Listen, want to take a walk? I could show you that park?”
“Thanks, but duty calls.” As I opened the gate, I discovered Livie close on our heels.
“Hey, Mr. W.,” she said, following me through the gate.
“Hi, Livie. Haven’t seen you around much.”
“Been studying at the library since three. My chem exam is gonna be really hard.”
“Oh, Livie, wish your old housemother could help you, but science was never one of my best subjects.”
Weinstein leaned against the gate, clearly in no hurry to depart. “You have your review sheet, don’t you?”
“Yup. Ricky, if I brought the sheet down, would you go through questions? Betty usually does it. She’s really good at chemistry. You don’t have to know anything. Just quiz me.”
Who could resist those puppy-dog eyes? “Okay, but only for a little while. You go in. I’ll be there in a sec, okay?”
Livie skipped off, taking the back steps of Round House two at a time.
“Poor little wretch,” he said, watching as she slammed the back door behind her.
I regarded him, wondering if the sentiment was genuine. “Gerry, I wanted to ask you about your science lab. Is it your equipment that was stolen?”
“Excuse me?”
“Dinny told me about the thefts and I wondered if it was your equipment that was taken?”
“If you mean chemistry department equipment, the answer is yes. I haven’t personally lost equipment, except for an old microscope I had stored away and hadn’t used in ten years.”
“I thought it was all brand-new equipment that was taken.”
“All except that. Most of the stuff was still in the packing boxes. The companies have been real decent. In a few cases, they even sent replacements free of charge.”
“How about recent thefts?”
“None since we started keeping everything under lock and key. Hopefully we’ve seen the last of it. It’s really difficult to run a solid program without proper equipment.”
“Any idea who’s responsible?”
“Not a clue, but I’d guess townies.”
“Anyone in particular?” He shrugged. “Well, good night, then,” I said, turning away as Gerry headed up the hill instead of proceeding across the street to the park. Apparently, he had had enough walking.
CHAPTER 37
We had almost completed the third pass through on Livie’s six-page review sheet and I was finally beginning to master the pronunciation of some of the more obscure scientific terms when Barry Frost knocked on the door. I ushered him in, apologizing to Livie and promising to come up when he left.
“So?” he said, plopping into an armchair.
“So what?”
“Did you tell him?”
“Yes. Says he knew all along and didn’t care.”
“Figures. So, where’s the Franklin kid?”
“I’ll get her. You stay here.” I headed upstairs and knocked on Missy’s door. She lived in a quad, two rooms with a bathroom in between, Diana and Maisie on the right, Missy and Kathy to the left. Kathy answered the door in a blue satin negligee, her hair in rollers, white cream covering her face. “I hope Missy doesn’t look like that,” I said, wondering what had happened to the granny gowns and nightshirts we had all worn to bed.
“Not yet.” She stepped aside.
Missy was stretched out on her bed, papers, books and open binders surrounding her. I was glad to see she was still dressed, in the slacks and blouse she’d had on at dinner. “Is he here?”
I had told her at dinner about Frost’s visit, and she had agreed to see him if I was present. Now she didn’t look so sure.
“Yes, but don’t look so worried. He’s an okay guy. I won’t let him keep you long.”
Once the three of us were seated, soda cans in hand, Missy recounted the incidents on the night of Carolyn’s death. Frost asked repeatedly about the man in the shadows, trying to tease out anything she had noticed about him, but Missy continued to maintain that without her contacts or glasses everything was a blur. Then he began quizzing her about Jared Phelps, but Missy stonewalled him. Didn’t know him well, had him for history one semester. Didn’t know anything about his relationship with Ms. Santos.
Finally, Frost scratched his head. “Okay, thanks. Get outta here, back to your studies. If you think of anything else, you’ll let me know, right?” She nodded, almost sprinting out the door.
When the door closed, he turned to me. “Think she’s telling the truth?”
“Yes, I do. I haven’t found one reason that Carolyn Santos would want to kill herself. She had two trips planned for the summer. She was heading to a terrific new job and she —”
“Whoa, no one told me about a new job.”
I quickly repeated what Dinny had told me, concluding with, “It doesn’t make sense, does it? Work all year on a project to honor a beloved colleague, plan two fabulous vacations and spend tons of time finding a new job, then, ‘Oops, I think I’ll kill myself.’”
“Even though you’re a bogus PI, I tend to agree with you. I’ll poke around, talk to Petty and the others and have my men go over the area around the garage again. I suppose you’ve already been snooping around in there?”
“No.” I sniffed. “It’s locked.”
“Good. Where’s the key?”
“I haven’t a clue. I’m only the housemother.”
“That’s the spirit. I’ll get Petty or one of the maintenance guys to let me in tomorrow. You stay out of there, though, comprende?”
<
br /> I nodded obediently, already planning to hotfoot it up to Dinny’s apartment during my morning run and get the key.
After Frost left, I headed up to Livie’s room and knocked on the door. She let me in, a sheepish grin on her face. “It’s kind of a mess, sorry.”
“I’ve seen messier.” I sat on the edge of the bed, surveying my surroundings. Compared to my bedroom at home, this place looked pretty good. I had to admire the pyramid of clothes she had going right smack in the middle of the floor. “In our day, we had room inspections. Am I supposed to be doing those?”
“Only once a month. Ms. Santos did the last one a few weeks ago. Here.”
She handed me the review sheet and we started in again. Three more run-throughs and my eyes drooped, the bed growing more comfy by the minute.
“Okay, I’m ready. Thanks.” She grabbed the review sheet from me. “You’re tired. I’m sending you to bed.”
As I crossed the room, my eyes fell on the desk, piled high with books and papers. A laptop computer labeled “Property of Whitley School” sat amid the rubble. When she noticed my surprise, she said, “They give ‘em to scholarship kids. They’re just loaners. I get to take it home for vacations and summer till I graduate.”
“Oh,” I murmured, disappointed. I had hoped she might say that she had borrowed it from Ms. Santos. “Livie, do you have any idea where Ms. Santos’s laptop might be?”
She shook her head. “It was always on her desk or in her briefcase.”
“What did the briefcase look like?”
“Green. It was canvas, from L.L. Bean, I think. Kind of battered up.”
Another missing item, I thought, bidding her good-night. As I made my way down the stairs, someone rapped at the front door. Who could be visiting at eleven at night? I peeked out and groaned, spying Jared Phelps pacing the porch. I considered not opening the door, but decided it was unlikely he would try anything with a whole dorm full of witnesses. I opened it a crack. “What on earth do you want? It’s nearly eleven.”
“I have to speak to Missy. Please let me in.”
I stepped out on the porch, closing the door behind me. “You know I can’t. Now, why don’t you run along home like a good boy?”
Anger flashed in his pale eyes, but he was working hard to control it. “Look, I’m sorry if we’ve started our relationship off on the wrong foot, but you don’t understand. I really need to see her.” As he spoke, he reached up and rested his hand on the porch column, staring down at me.
I stood straighter, refusing to be intimidated. “We don’t have a relationship, Mr. Phelps. It’s impossible for you to see Missy. Now, please leave.”
“Just five minutes. I have something I need to ask her.”
“Ask me, and I’ll relay the message.”
“I can’t.” He shook his head, stepping back. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“Look, I know my reputation’s a little tarnished, but once upon a time I was well-respected on this campus.”
“Before you started sleeping with the students?”
“I don’t know where you heard that, but it’s bullshit. I never slept with anyone. Missy and I had a special bond, but it wasn’t sexual.”
“Bond or no bond, you can’t see her.”
“This is Petty’s doing, isn’t it? Bastard, oughta be shot. Oh, but then, I forgot how chummy you are with our wicked headmaster.”
“As I told you this afternoon, Missy’s aunt is the one who has forbidden you to go near her. Dinny is only following her wishes.”
“The governor’s lackey now, is he? As usual, our Dinny’s prostituted himself to the highest bidder.”
“That’s enough.”
“Has you sucked in, doesn’t he?”
“You’d better go.”
He grabbed hold of my arm. “Please, it’s for her own safety, Ms. Steele.”
“Let go of me, Mr. Phelps.” I spoke calmly and quietly, hoping my tone might soothe the savage beast. He let go and I stepped back. “She’s afraid of you. She doesn’t want to see you.”
“Me, why?”
“She believes that Carolyn Santos was murdered and so do I.”
“She can’t think that I did it? I would never hurt Carolyn.”
“She doesn’t know what to think. She’s just scared.”
He shook his head. “Goddammit, what a friggin’ idiot I am. She may not know who, but I do.”
“Who?” I called, but he was already halfway down the steps. “Jared, wait!” He hopped into his car and spun off, ignoring my waving and calling. As I turned back, I wondered what mayhem he intended to stir up at eleven o’clock on a school night.
I locked up and returned to my apartment to find the light on the answering machine blinking. I pushed the button and listened to three messages, the first, a saved message from the afternoon from a parent of one of the girls. The second from Dinny, “just saying good-night,” and the last from Brooke Richards. Both Dinny’s and Brooke’s calls had come while I was up helping Livie.
Brooke’s voice boomed in the silence of the room. “Hey. Ricky. It’s about ten fifteen on Tuesday. Guess you must be upstairs with the girls. I hope you’re holding down the fort and all that.” Terrific, I thought, another one of those people who likes to take up the whole message tape, rattling on about nothing. “Marilyn and I were talking and thought we’d have a few people to dinner tomorrow night. We’d like you to join us, if you’re free. No problem about the dorm. I’ll arrange coverage. We’ll expect you tomorrow around seven. Give me a call at the office or phone Marilyn at the library either way, would you?” He repeated his office number, his home number and the library number twice before hanging up.
Dinner with Brooke and Marilyn. How jolly.
CHAPTER 38
The following morning, I woke at 5:00 a.m. and decided to take a quick sprint across campus to Dinny’s apartment, hopeful I would find him still at home. As it turned out, I found him sooner than expected. He was part of a growing crowd converged on the Quonset hut/maintenance shed near Rolly’s. He was conferring with Barry Frost, a uniformed officer at their side, taking notes. As I approached, Rich Naylor emerged from the throng, muttering to Jack Anders from the math department, to whom Brooke had introduced me on the campus tour. “After I’ve seen Hope, I’ll check back. Keep me posted, will you, Jack?”
Rich nodded to me, then hurried off in the direction of the main classroom building. I approached Anders. “Wild and woolly” is what we would have called Jack’s type in college—thick, unruly hair, full beard and mustache, the brown flecked with gray, wire-rimmed glasses. He wore a flannel shirt and blue jeans even though it was nearly seventy degrees. “Jack, hi. Not sure if you remember me? We met a few days ago.”
“Ms. Steele, of course. Housemother and sleuth extraordinaire. You’re already a campus legend.” As soon as he spoke, he cringed. “Oh, sorry, I shouldn’t be making jokes at a time like this.”
I craned my neck, attempting to peer over the crowd. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Jared. Appears he died, just like Carolyn. Another suicide. Look, I’m sorry. I have to go to the office to make some calls. Take care.”
As I watched Anders’s retreat, Jared’s words the previous evening echoed in my mind. “She may not know who, but I do.” Had that knowledge gotten him killed?
I jumped at the sound of Dinny’s voice behind me. “So, you heard?” I stepped back, rubbing the goose bumps that covered my arms. “Ricky, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“Our Dinny’s prostituted himself to the highest bidder.” Was that what Jared had said? “Fine. It’s just… What’s happened?”
“Fred Draper found him this morning when he opened up. Truck was still running. Carbon monoxide. Just like Carolyn.”
“At least this one won’t be ruled a suicide.”
“I don’t know. Rich tells me Jared’s been really depressed since Carolyn’s death. His wife Robin’s pretty friend
ly with Hope.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Suicide? The man was either crazy or was more like his Aunt Muriel than I’d imagined. “You can’t be serious.”
He refused to meet my eyes. “Look, Ricky, I’ve got to get back to the office and make some calls. Stop in later when you get a moment and we can talk, okay?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask for the garage keys, but I decided it might not be the best time for me to be caught snooping around a crime scene. Suicide, indeed. At least I could be sure Barry Frost would not concur.
I watched as the ambulance arrived and they took the body out. Most of the people milling around were maintenance crew and a few faculty. Mercifully, no students.
As I turned to head back to Round House, Frost caught me. “Steele, get over here.”
As I approached, he waved his assistant off. “How’d you hear about this? Who called you?”
“No one. I was taking a jog and saw everyone. You don’t think it’s suicide, do you?”
“That’s none of your business. And you stay out of it.”
Two could play at that game. “Okay, fine. Then I won’t tell you about my visit from Mr. Phelps last night.” I turned away.
“Hold it right there.”
“Was it suicide?”
“Do I look like a total moron?”
“No, thank goodness.”
“Spit it out—what about Phelps?” He waved to the uniform. “Dave, come over here. I want you to get this down.”
As Dave scribbled furiously, I gave Frost a rundown of my conversation with Jared, omitting his remarks about Dinny.
“Never said what he needed to talk to her about?”
I shook my head. “Where did they find him?”
“Driver’s seat, the old truck. Maintenance guy says it’s amazing he, or she, could even get the thing started, let alone that it ran all night.”
“Do they know when he died?”
“Preliminary guess, around one. That means the thing ran for nearly four hours. Draper found him at five. Nasty bump on his head.”
“Where was he? In the truck, I mean?”
Prepped to Kill (Ricky Steele Mysteries Book 1) Page 17