“What do you want me to do to help?” Dad asked.
I shook the morose thoughts from my head. “Maybe poke around campus and find out whatever you can about Dr. Beeson from your colleagues. I have a long list of suspects from the Sap and Spile Club, but I don’t want to ignore other possibilities.”
Dad perked up. He loved playing detective. “I’ll ask around and see if anyone on campus knows about him, or about who might want him dead.”
“Thanks. I should head back to the Farm. We have a school visit today and a tree tapping class.”
“You have a lot going on at the Farm this year.”
I nodded. “I have to. I want it to succeed for Cynthia’s sake.”
He smiled. “She cared about you like a beloved niece. She would be very proud of what you’ve accomplished, and so would your mother.”
I looked down so he couldn’t see the tears in my eyes.
Dad perked up. “Before you go back, you should check out the horticulture building where Beeson worked. You might learn a thing or two about Conrad while you’re at it. And you might always meet someone who didn’t care for him.”
I realized Dad was right. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
He grinned. “You just need a detecting consultation from your old man. I’d love to go with you.” He peered at his watch. “But I have class in a half hour.”
“Where’s the horticulture building? You said I have to drive there.”
He nodded. “It’s not physically connected to the main campus at all. It’s a series of barns on the outskirts of New Hartford, on the opposite side of the park from the Farm.”
I frowned. “Could someone walk from the college’s barns to Barton Farm?”
He pursed his lips. “I suppose so. It would be a three-mile hike. I wouldn’t want to do it in the snow and mud.”
But a person intent on killing Dr. Beeson might just think it was worth the trip.
Somehow, from the stacks of papers on his desk, Dad was able to immediately put his hands on a campus map. He circled the horticulture building with a fountain pen. “It’s a short drive.” He slid the map across his desk to me.
I stood up. “I’ll tell you everything that happens,” I promised.
“You’d better,” he said. “Be careful.”
sixteen
Blustery wind shook my car as I drove the short distance from the main campus to the horticulture and animal husbandry campus. To reach the cluster of buildings, I drove up a long, bumpy gravel driveway. The harsh winter had left it torn up with deep ruts.
I parked in a small lot, which was half full, beside the first barn. After consulting the map my father had given me, I noted that the horticulture department was located in an enormous greenhouse behind the large horse barn.
I grabbed my purse and dropped the map into it before exiting the car. My boots sloshed through slush as I came around the side of the barn and headed for the greenhouse beyond.
I opened the glass greenhouse door, and the humid air hit me like a tropical breeze. It felt lovely against my dried-out and tired winter skin, like an instant facial, and it was hot. Within seconds of letting the door close behind me, I was roasting in my heavy down coat. I unzipped my coat and removed my scarf as I scanned the room.
The greenhouse smelled like fertilizer and dirt. There were rows and rows of seedlings. The plants were waiting for it to be warm enough for them to be sold and put in someone’s garden. That wouldn’t be until mid-May in this part of the country. I wondered if my master gardener Shepley had ever been in this greenhouse to purchase plants. I thought he would enjoy seeing it. Then again, that would be a very bad idea. He would tell anyone who would listen everything they were doing wrong in caring for the plants.
A young woman wearing bib overalls and holding a hose nozzle stared at me. Her long, chestnut-colored hair was tied back in a ponytail on the top of her head, and it waved back and forth when she moved. “May I help you?”
I cleared my throat. “I hope so. I’m Kelsey Cambridge. I’m the director of Barton Farm, and I came to—”
She cut me off. “Are you here about Dr. Beeson?”
I blinked. “Why yes, I am. How would you know that?”
“Because he died at Barton Farm yesterday.” She gave me an accusing look, as if I’d stabbed the professor with the hand drill myself.
And technically, he’d died at the hospital, but I didn’t think it was wise to correct her. “I know. Everyone at the Farm feels terrible over what happened.” I swallowed as images of Beeson trying to tell me who they were came back to me again.
Her face fell. “We’re all upset about Dr. Beeson.”
Considering Beeson’s rudeness to Benji and me at the Farm, I was surprised to hear this.
“It was a terrible way to die, to keel over in the woods all alone,” she said, giving me that accusing glare again.
My brows shot up, and I felt my curiosity perk up as I wondered what this girl knew. “The police said he had a heart attack. That’s what caused him to fall.” I didn’t add that someone had finished the job by stabbing him in the chest with the hand drill.
She gripped her nozzle a little tighter. “Were you with him? Did you see what happened?”
I frowned, hoping that she wouldn’t turn the hose on me to run me out of the greenhouse. Something told me she was considering it. “No.”
“Then you don’t know,” she said, as if that ended the conversation. She turned on the hose. Much to my relief, she directed the water onto the seedlings and not me.
There was an awkward silence between us as I watched her water. I cleared my throat and spoke loudly enough to be heard over the drone of the water spray. “I’m very sorry. I know this must be difficult, but I was wondering if I could talk to someone about him.” I paused, thinking quickly of an excuse to be there. “He was to teach a class to aspiring tree tappers today. I wondered if he’d left any notes here that were meant for the talk. Perhaps with a coworker?” I didn’t mention that the talk was already in progress and that Stroud seemed to be doing just fine.
The girl turned off the hose, and, to my surprise, tears sprang to her eyes. “Don’t you think you’re moving on very quickly?”
I gave her a sympathetic smile. “I understand that it does seem a little callous, and I’m sorry about Dr. Beeson’s passing. Unfortunately, the tree tapping class can’t be canceled.”
She studied me with watery dark eyes. Perhaps Benji and I had misjudged Beeson. It was clear that this girl cared deeply for him.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
Gruffly, she wiped a tear from her cheek. “You’ll have to ask Buck. Maybe he can help you.”
“Buck?” I asked.
She pointed to the glass door at the back of the greenhouse. There were large windows that stood on either side of it that looked into a large classroom. She dropped her arm and went back to watering. I had been dismissed, and our conversation was over.
After a beat, I followed the girl’s directions and wove through the rows of seedlings to the back. I stepped through the door, and the temperature changed dramatically again. I wondered how many people working here suffered from a chronic cold, given the constant change of temperature as they moved from room to room and building to building.
The classroom was brightly lit but empty. I was debating whether or not to step through the door across the room to see where it led when Buckley, the bald man from Sap and Spile, walked in. Buckley. Buck. Great.
He pulled up short. “You’re not in my class. Are you lost? Can I assist you in some way?”
I relaxed. Maybe he didn’t recognize me from the meeting last night. That hope was short-lived.
He pointed his finger at me. “You’re the woman from the Sap and Spile meeting, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “I’m Kelsey Camb
ridge. I’m the director—”
“Of Barton Farm. I know.” He set his laptop on the desk at the front of the room. “That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing in my classroom.”
I had a feeling that Buckley wouldn’t buy my story about wanting to see Beeson’s tree tapping lecture notes. “I was visiting my father at the college. Roy Renard—he’s a professor of drama.”
“I know who he is.”
“Yes, well, I thought I would swing by and share my condolences with Dr. Beeson’s colleagues.”
He folded his arms. “I’m not buying what you’re selling. If you were on the main campus visiting your father, you had to make an effort to come all the way out to the barns.”
Busted.
I went on the offensive. “I don’t care if you believe it or not. It’s the truth. To be honest, I’m just as surprised as you are to find you here. I didn’t know you worked with Dr. Beeson when I saw you at Sap and Spile.”
“I don’t know why you would, or why you would care.” Buckley opened his laptop. “Even though I don’t believe your story, I’ll accept your condolences on behalf of the entire department.”
I nodded. “Thank you. I see you’re getting ready for class, so I’ll leave you to it.”
He grunted but didn’t look up from his computer.
I slipped out through the door back into the main part of the greenhouse. The girl who I’d met earlier was gone. I debated searching for her. Of all the people I’d met in Beeson’s life since he died, she was the only one to shed a tear over his death. I glanced over my shoulder into the classroom and found Buckley watching me through the window. I wiggled my fingers at him and headed outside. It seemed that my search for the young woman would have to wait.
I left the greenhouse, welcoming the cool air for the first time. And I’d only been in the stifling environment for a few minutes.
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” a high-pitched female voice yelled from the other side of the building.
As usual, curiosity got the best of me and I followed the sound.
I came around the corner and saw the young woman I’d met leaning against the greenhouse wall and talking on the phone. She didn’t have a coat, but her face was flushed as if she were experiencing the onset of a hot flash.
“I did what I was told. That was it. It was my job,” she said sharply to someone on the other end of the phone line. “Are you insane? There’s no way that I’m going to the police.” She looked in my direction and her eyes widened. “I have to go.” She hung up. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She burst into tears.
seventeen
I took a tentative step toward the crying girl. “Hey, it’s okay. Can I get someone for you? It can’t be as bad as that?”
“It is. Dr. Beeson is dead, and it’s my fault.” She covered her eyes with her hands.
I froze. “Come again?”
She dropped her hands, and her mouth fell open as if she’d just realized what she’d said. “I have to go.” She raced around the side of the greenhouse.
Without pausing to think that I might be chasing a killer, I ran after her. As I came around the corner, I saw a door slam open on the back of the building. I raced for it and caught it before it closed. Stepping inside, I had to blink a few times as my eyes adjusted to the dark.
Three long black counters cut across the room, surrounded by stools. Equipment filled the space, and dozens of tropical plants bent toward the sunlight pouring in the bank of large windows on the far side. It was a lab.
“Hello?” I called out.
There was no answer. I remained quiet for a full minute, listening hard for any snuffling sounds from the upset girl. Nothing. Clearly she was a very quiet breather, or she wasn’t there. There was another door at the end of the room. I suspected it led to the hallway and she was long gone.
I removed my cell phone from the back pocket of my jeans. It was almost noon. The school children would be filing into the cafeteria by now for their pancake lunch, and the members of Stroud’s class would be in the maple grove drilling holes into the trees and setting the spiles for sap. I should return to the Farm and help out. That was my real job, not chasing after some emotional college student or catching a potential killer.
Then I heard a sneeze.
She was in the lab. I inched forward, trying to make as little noise as possible. Then I ran into a rolling cart with my hip and sent it careening into the closest lab table.
There was a scream, and the girl popped out from under one of the tables and bolted for the door on the other side of the room.
“Wait!” I cried.
To my surprise, this time she stopped and spun around. “Why? What do you want?”
I held up my hands as if to show her that I meant no harm, which was the truth. “I want to make sure you’re okay. You seemed pretty upset outside.” Who was I kidding? She was still upset.
She rubbed her eyes and smudged her eye makeup. Although the eye shadow smeared a little, the mascara remained perfectly in place. She must have been wearing a heavy-duty waterproof brand. “Who are you?”
“I told you that back in the greenhouse. I’m from Barton Farm.”
She blinked her wide eyes at me, reminding me of one of the many deer that I startled on my early morning walkabouts on the Farm. “I know that, but why are you following me?”
I decided to play it straight with the girl because clearly I wasn’t getting anywhere being evasive. “I overheard you mention going to the police. Do you know something about how Dr. Beeson died?”
She flopped onto a stool, buried her face in her hands, and bawled.
I walked across the room and slid another lab stool close to her. “Shh, shh, calm down. You’ll make yourself sick.” I heard myself repeating my mother’s words. Many times she would use the sick card when I was an inconsolable child in order to make me stop crying. I can’t say that it ever worked on me, but it seemed to do the trick on the girl.
There was a roll of paper towels on the neighboring lab table and I ripped off a half dozen sheets and handed them to the girl.
She took the entire wad and rubbed them across her face. After she gave her face a thorough scrub-down, she crumbed the paper towels into a tight ball in her fist and took a shuddering breath. “This is his lab. It’s even harder to think about his death in this room.”
I glanced around the lab, noticing Beeson’s nameplate on the teacher’s desk for the first time. “What did you mean when you said that Dr. Beeson’s death was your fault?”
She looked at me with a confused expression.
“I’m not the police,” I said reassuringly.
She nodded. “I know that. If it hadn’t been for me, he wouldn’t have even been on the Farm yesterday.”
“Why do you say that?”
She swallowed, and an idea struck me. “Were you the one who called me and told me you were Robert Stroud’s daughter and that he had gone to the hospital, so he couldn’t teach the tree tapping class today?”
She didn’t meet my eyes. At least one mystery was solved.
“And you called Stroud and told him that I’d canceled the class because of low attendance, which was also a lie.”
She pressed the paper towels to the corner of her eye. “Dr. Beeson asked me to. He was a tough professor, and not tough in a nice way. Everyone knew that he enjoyed failing students. I wasn’t failing, but I was getting a C in his lab. He said that if I did it, he’d give me an A. I have a 4.0 GPA, and Dr. Beeson was the only one who was going to give me a lower grade. I’m hoping to go to a four-year school next year, and I need the best grades possible to get the most scholarship money.” Her eyes pleaded with me as if begging me to understand.
Her reason for making the calls for Beeson hadn’t been w
hat I’d expected, and I was relieved about that. I’d had an employee the year before who got tangled up in a love affair with an older man, so automatically my mind had gone there. It hadn’t ended well for anyone, especially for the man.
“Why did he want you to do this? Did he give a reason?”
“He said that he should have been the one teaching the class anyway, since he wrote a book about it.”
“Maple Sugar and the Civil War?”
She nodded.
“Let me get this straight. He asked you to lie to two people because he wanted to teach my class at the Farm.” I frowned, remembering how obsessed Beeson seemed with the idea of teaching the class, especially when the trees were frozen.
She chewed on her lip. “So you see, it is my fault. If I hadn’t made those calls, he wouldn’t have been at the Farm that day. He would still be alive.”
“Dr. Beeson had a heart attack. It seems to me that he would have had one eventually. You can’t be blamed for that.”
She stared at me. “But I heard he was stabbed in the chest with a drill.”
There was that. It appeared the news about the stabbing had gotten out after all. The question was whether it was just a rumor on the college campus or if it had reached the rest of the town.
“What’s your name?” I asked her.
“Why?” She shrank back.
I waited and didn’t say anything. After a beat she said, “Landon.” However, by the way she said it, I suspected it wasn’t her real name. But it didn’t matter. Detective Brandon would figure out who she was; I had to share this information with the cops. It might help Gavin, or it might not. If Landon said that Gavin knew about Dr. Beeson plotting to take over the tree tapping class, then it might look even worse for him.
I decided to cut the girl not-named-Landon a break. “This isn’t your fault. If you hadn’t agreed to make the call for Beeson, he would have found someone else who would. He seemed like a determined man to me.”
The Final Tap Page 11