“So what else did you learn beside the best place to buy bikini underwear?” Jerry asked when she returned from the meeting with Marcella.
“She rooms on campus, and from what little I can make out, Psych Eunice is her roommate. Her real name is Zoe Schmidt. I even got an invitation to visit them. Something of a wardrobe inspection.”
“No mention of the real Eunice?”
“Not a whisper. But I didn’t fish. Jerry, could you do me another favor?”
“Oh, oh. Cynthia, again, right? She’s going to start thinking I’m getting ready to move in with the other Eunice Louise Eubanks. That way I won’t make the mistake of calling her by the wrong name under the wrong circumstances. I had a friend once who always called his girlfriends ‘Babe’ so he wouldn’t make that kind of mistake.”
“Thank you for a very instructive glimpse into the male psyche. Now, what I’d like is Eunice Louise Eubanks’ room number—if she lives on campus, that is.”
Jerry called Eunice from campus. “Room 404, Sedgely Hall. Your other Eunice’s old man must be generous. He’s paying for single occupancy. By the way, Cynthia is expecting lunch at someplace fancier than Commons, this time. She’s convinced I have a Eunice Louise Eubanks obsession, but I told her the obsession was really yours.”
As Eunice returned the phone to its cradle, she began to wonder if Cynthia wasn’t correct. She finally decided she was. The search for the other Eunice had become an obsession. Recognizing that, she became absolutely determined to solve the mystery. Room 404, Sedgely Hall might provide all the needed clues. Somehow, she had to get into the room.
Jerry really wasn’t very helpful on that score. “How about a passkey?”
“So where do I get one?”
Jerry shrugged. “The window, instead?”
“Four floors up?”
“Tell ‘em at the desk you want to leave a package for her in the room.”
“And I’ll just be told to leave the package at the desk.”
“Why not FEDEX, and you need her signature?”
“I don’t have a uniform. And, besides, I’m convinced there won’t be anyone there to sign. So I won’t see into the room.”
A solution, though not a very satisfactory one, because it would take time and did not depend on Cynthia, finally occurred to her. It entailed getting in touch with an old roommate of hers who was now occupying a room in Sedgely Hall.
A visit to the ex-roommate, a chat with her and her current roomy produced much of the needed information, with only a moderate amount of deviousness in achieving her goal. The days the cleaning women worked the Hall had been what she was searching for. All that was left was the timing.
Eunice roamed through the building on the appointed day. It took her the better part of the morning to work out who was scheduled to clean on the fourth floor, and to get an approximate notion of when they would reach 404. The timing wasn’t perfect, but she did manage to catch the cleaning lady—a pleasant, garrulous, matronly figure—and explain the situation to her. The other Eunice was her sister. She, herself, was in town for just a few hours and had been trying to get in touch with her by phone. No luck. And she wanted to leave a special gift for her. Would it be too much to ask to get into room 404 just to put the package on her bed?
A brief lecture followed about how they weren’t allowed to let just anyone into the room, that even if someone forgot or lost their key, they had to go to the desk, that you just couldn’t be too careful these days. Eunice decided if she got so much as a glimpse into the room, she would be lucky. As it turned out, she got a complete survey. The cleaning lady left the door open and continued the conversation as she went over and plunked the package on the bed.
“You should be proud of your sister. This must be the cleanest room on campus. You’d think she wasn’t even living here.”
The reason it looks the way it does is for exactly that reason, Eunice thought. She isn’t living here and hasn’t been in the room for at least two quarters.
“So what’s the latest in the great Eunice Louise Eubanks search, today?” Jerry asked when she finally straggled back to their living quarters that afternoon.
“There’s something really strange going on.”
“How so?”
“Her dorm room isn’t like any dorm room I’ve ever seen. It looks like it’s been mostly stripped clean except for her clothes. They’re still there, a closet full, along with a big rack of shoes. But it’s obvious no one has been living there for weeks, maybe months. Nothing on her desk. And no computer! How many college students are there these days who don’t have a computer?”
“Maybe she’s broke and hocked it. To help pay for the trip to Europe with her boy friend.”
“No way. Her clothes are in a class with Melissa’s, right out of the best shops. She would never have gone anywhere for any length of time without taking most of it along with her. And I caught a glimpse of a couple of suitcases in her closet. No! She’s not off on any jaunt, European or otherwise.”
“So?”
“So I’m going to become real close friends with the residents of 733 Brier Hall.”
The intention wasn’t easy to carry out. As she had anticipated, she had little in common with either Marcella or Zoe. And, if anything, Zoe was downright unfriendly. Their quarters spoke of extravagant living. Unlike the near-empty room at Sedgely, this room contained not one but two high-end computers. In addition to a bulging wardrobe closet, consisting mainly of Marcella’s clothing, the room was a jumble of expensive sports equipment. Skis, diving gear, tennis rackets, in-line skates—Eunice couldn’t even begin to estimate the value of the room’s contents, and felt sorry for the cleaning lady who had to deal with the affluent disorder.
Eventually, Eunice eked out bits and dribbles of information which she systematically forced Jerry to listen to and to help evaluate.
“They had a room in Sedgely Hall last year. I’m not sure which one, but I’ll bet it was right near Eunice’s.”
“Don’t tell me; Cynthia again.”
Eunice grinned. “Well, it really wouldn’t be any trouble for her to look up room numbers for Zoe and Marcella, say for the past two or three quarters.”
“I’m sure it will be a relief for her not to have dig out Eunice Louise Eubanks’ records again. But Cynthia says she’s going to stop brown-bagging it. She’s just going to count on lunch with us for the rest of the quarter. So what’s next? If you can tell me ahead of time, maybe I can get wholesale rates at the lunchroom.”
“I want to get to those computers!”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. I’d be willing to bet one of those belonged to Eunice, and I’m sure there’ll be something there to tell me what happened to her.”
“E-mail?”
“Exactly.”
“So, how do you figure on tapping their e-mail?”
“Remember you talked about a pass key to 404 Sedgely?”
Jerry nodded.
“Well, I know where Zoe keeps her key. She doesn’t have much time for me, and usually goes off somewhere while Marcella and I are talking skirts and dresses and the latest Paris fashions.”
“And you’re going to wait until Marcella’s off to the can or something and then you’ll swipe the key.”
“Something like that.”
“And no one will be the wiser. C’mon, Eunice, you really don’t believe that, do you?”
“Why won’t it work? Zoe will just think she misplaced it. Didn’t you ever lose a room key when you were on campus? And, anyway, I’ll have a duplicate made and then drop the original under Zoe’s bed first chance I get.”
“What about passwords?”
“I couldn’t follow Marcella’s, but Zoe hunts and pecks. I memorized the keys, and it’s “Rebok.” I think Marcella has the same one. That way they don’t have to pay for two accounts. And only one of the computers is hooked up to the phone.”
“You know you’re skating on thin ice
, don’t you? The administration isn’t going to take kindly to your sneaking into someone’s room, to say nothing of making a duplicate of someone else’s key.”
Eunice shrugged. “No one’s ever going to know anything about it. I’ll wait until they have simultaneous classes. In fact, they’re both in the same sociology class every Wednesday afternoon at one. Next Wednesday is going to be the big day if I can get the key.”
Jerry frowned. “ I don’t like it. You could get into real trouble. Maybe get kicked out of school.”
“Why not come along? You can stand guard outside the door and help me keep out of trouble.”
“In a women’s dorm? Male visitors are allowed, but I don’t want to be picked up for loitering in the halls. Besides, I’ve got a math test on Wednesday at one. Be careful!”
“Don’t worry. I will be. I’ll have fifty minutes to run down the information, but I’ll stay only thirty minutes to be on the safe side.”
Discovering the couple had had a room right next to the other Eunice’s helped to strengthen her resolve as she hesitated at the door before trying the duplicate key. It also helped as she sat uneasily in front of the unfamiliar computer. A quick search of the e-mail produced nothing of significance. Letters between Marcella and her mother and also someone named Lucy. Nothing of significance either for or from Zoe. And then it occurred to her the other Eunice would have had her own password. It was then when the futility of her search struck her. She glanced at her watch and saw she had forty minutes more—twenty minutes if she stuck to her timetable. Shrugging, she decided to play with possible passwords. “Sedgely” Invalid password. Why not just “Eunice?” Unsophisticated users sometimes did nothing more than that. Invalid password. “Ecinue.” Eunice was amused at her infantile guess. So was the computer. Invalid password.
But if she did use her name, forwards or backwards, and if she wasn’t a great typist, she might have used all lower case, Eunice thought. But “eunice” produced the invariable Invalid password. One last attempt: “ecinue.” Bingo! Names and dates of senders popped up on the screen. Eunice lost herself in checking out the letters, all from the other Eunice’s dad in Saudi Arabia. But the sent letters were the revealing ones. A quick scrolling back brought up one announcing a trip to Aspen over the Christmas holidays, with “Zoe and Marcella.” And, most astonishing of all, were the continued letters from the other Eunice prattling on about classes and college happenings—right up to today’s date.
Eunice was so engrossed in the unfolding drama she didn’t hear the door opening softly behind her. Later, she remembered trying to breathe in the midst of an enveloping darkness. And then, from a long black tunnel, head pounding, she could hear a familiar voice. Jerry—off in the distance, coming nearer, hovering, disappearing, coming back. And another sound, the wail of a siren, the feel of a boat fighting choppy waves. It took her almost until they arrived at the emergency room before she realized she was in an ambulance.
The officious nurse had, after dosing her with sedatives, refused to answer any of her questions, which was probably just as well. Eunice’s head was so muddled she probably wouldn’t have understood the answers to what must have been awfully fuzzy questions, anyway.
It really wasn’t until the next day, when Jerry arrived along with a police sergeant looking for a signed statement, that the previous day’s happenings began to take on some sense.
Jerry’s grin was especially welcome. “You came awfully close,” he said.
“What happened?”
“I finished my test early and went looking for you. Since you didn’t get back when you said you were going to, I went over to Brier Hall. I knocked, but no one answered, even though I’d heard scuffling inside. That’s when I broke down the door. Zoe had you down on the floor with a pillow over your head. Those two were tigers, believe me.”
The sergeant broke in, saying to Eunice, “You were damn lucky. We got the tall one, Marcella, to confess. She admits they planned to throw you out the window as soon as they were sure you were unconscious. As it was, the pillow about finished you off. The doctor says you were within seconds of dying.”
“What happened to the other Eunice?” Eunice asked.
“She went to Aspen with them and disappeared into a crevasse. First off, they were claiming it was an accident. Now, they’re accusing each other of doing it.”
“But why did they go to all the trouble of trying to pretend she was alive? They’d gotten away with killing her. What else mattered?”
The sergeant answered, “A piece of plastic is what mattered. Her dad gave her an unlimited credit card, and he makes so much money in Saudi Arabia he never bothered to check on how she was using it. Marcella forged Eunice’s name, which wasn’t difficult, since no one checks on signatures anyway.”
“And that explains the e-mail,” Jerry said. “There was no way her dad could know it wasn’t Eunice answering his letters. And since he wasn’t planning on coming back to the U.S. for another couple of years, these two were sitting pretty. They could plead, in Eunice’s place, all sorts of reasons for not going back to Saudi during the summer vacation. After all, he was paying Eunice’s board and tuition. They only had to make like she was still taking classes, and they could keep on charging anything and everything they wanted to.”
Eunice slowly absorbed all the information, then said, “You know, for a while there when I first heard about the other Eunice, I found myself kind of wishing I could be her. I don’t feel that way anymore.”
THE KETCH
Finally! Noland handed over the check, and the owner—who had just now officially become the former owner—handed over the bill of sale, the boat’s registry, the Coast Guard permit, and a manila folder of miscellaneous papers.
The seller glanced at the cashier’s check, then reached out and shook Noland’s hand. “Congratulations, she’s all yours.” He waved a hand at the ketch rocking gently beside the pier. “Do you know the two happiest days in a man’s life?” he asked.
Noland shook his head, only half listening.
“The day he buys a boat and the day he sells it.” Noland laughed, feeling it was expected of him, and turned to look at his new possession, while the former owner smiled and walked off toward the parking lot.
The ketch, the Sally Mae—he’d have to rename her—was riding high in the water. She had cost him an arm and a leg, but he had mooring privileges, something not easy to get these days in Bremerton, or anywhere else in Puget Sound for that matter. And he had gone all out in other ways, putting in seven sessions of power-boat training, reading whatever he could lay his hands on having anything to do with boating, and then memorizing hundreds of nautical terms.
Early on he’d learned starboard from port, the difference between a yawl and a ketch, and which sides of the channel the red and blue buoys marked. And now the day had finally arrived. In twenty minutes he’d be moving his prize out through the opening in the breakwater and into the Sound, maybe even take her across to Seattle. Today was a red-letter day.
His wife, Margerie, had not been thrilled by the prospect of his becoming a boat owner. She didn’t share his love of the sea, and had told him in no uncertain terms she had no plans of ever becoming a passenger. So much for her! The Sally Mae wouldn’t become the Margerie N—that was for sure. Yes, he’d give the naming matter some further thought. The craft needed painting and refurbishing. There would be plenty of time to come up with a name.
A half-hour later he was congratulating himself on having successfully maneuvered the ketch out into open water. The engine purred along, and he even tried his hand at the foresail. The brisk wind quickly convinced him to go back to depending on the inboard. “Sailing will come later,” he decided.
During the first two weeks, he managed two weekends and two other days stolen from work to try out his boating skills. By then, he felt sufficiently proficient to set up a boating date for friends he knew would envy him the craft, the skimming along the waves, the open air, t
he freedom of seafaring.
The day before the excursion, the phone rang. It was Kurt Bronson. “I just won’t be able to make it tomorrow. Car’s acting up. Timing’s off, and it might be a good idea to change the oil and maybe the plugs, too. How about next time?”
“Sure. No problem.”
“And Phil called. He said he tried to get you, but your phone was busy. He asked me to tell you Lou Anne read the riot act to him. She told him he’d be sleeping on the couch if he didn’t get out to Bobby’s soccer game tomorrow. He missed the last two, and she told him there wasn’t a single other father in the league who’d missed three in a row. He says the couch is too short for him, so he’s going to have to beg off too.”
“We’ll set up another day. OK?”
“Sure. Just let me know ahead of time.”
The phone rang again the moment Noland placed it back in the cradle.
Even before she mentioned her name, he recognized the voice. Ginnie McVern. “Cally’s down with the flu, Noland. He was looking forward to a boat ride, but he’s sicker than a dog. Even so, he wanted to go, but I told him he’d never make it to the dock. Right now, he can’t even make it out of bed.”
“Three for three,” Noland thought as he hung up. “Too bad. And here it’s a perfect day for sailing. Well, I’ll just go out without them.” But he had prepared himself for a day entertaining his friends out on the Sound. Sailing alone seemed somehow a much less attractive prospect.
Though he didn’t care for fish, and had never so much as wet a line, Noland decided if his friends couldn’t make it he could be fishing at the same time as enjoying the see breezes.
Fred, in the marina office and store, shifted his reading glasses down his nose and gave the customer his attention as Noland inquired about fishing equipment. In answer to his customer’s question, Fred nodded toward a glass case in the back of the store. “That’s about all the stock I have left. Mostly sinkers and hooks. Couple of rods. I used to have forty thousand dollars of inventory, but it was a waste of space. Beer does a lot better. Fishing in the Sound has gone all to hell. About the only ones who bother are some of the old timers. Justy Mattson goes out once or twice a month and brings in dogfish for his cat. Lucky to catch that.”
Mayhem, Mystery and Murder Page 45