Textbook Murder

by Laina Turner

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you need cream? Sugar?”

  “No. Black is fine.”

  “Don’t think I’m not happy you interrupted my game of Stupid Zombie, which I was losing anyway, but I’m assuming there’s a purpose for this visit?” He still seemed a little nervous to her, but it was understandable.

  “Well, yes,” she replied, setting her cup back down. “My office at the university was broken into yesterday.”

  “Oh no! Are you okay?”

  Chloe waved away his concern. “I’m fine. Wasn’t even there. It happened while I was at the coffee shop with you. When I came back to work, the cops were there. Our office assistant had noticed. My door was ajar, and she looked in to find quite the mess.”

  He looked worried. “Do they know who? Or why?”

  “No. Of course, the police are looking into it.”

  “Do they think it could be the same person who killed Bill? Maybe they were looking for something in his office?”

  “That’s the funny thing. They didn’t break into Bill’s office. That’s a crime scene. They broke into the one I was moved to. That person is in Europe for the summer, so I assume it wasn’t targeted at him. Or maybe it was, and this is a coincidence. Though unless it was a student wanting to steal test material or something, why would anyone want anything from a college professor’s office? There’s nothing in there of value.”

  Randall’s face looked even more worried. “I don’t like that, Chloe. That almost seems like someone thinks you have something they want. Maybe they think you took something from Bill’s office?”

  “Which is exactly why I’m here. I didn’t take anything from Bill’s office. I never had a chance to even go in there, except to find him. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that you’re right. There’s something in there someone wants and must think I now have. So what is it?” She looked at him questioningly.

  “You think I know?”

  “Not exactly what someone might want, but let’s face it, the odds of Bill’s murder being random and it just being a coincidence that he was also your attorney are slim. I hate to state the obvious, but you’re not very well liked right now in some circles. Maybe Bill had some information about your case that someone was willing to kill for?”

  “I’m not sure what that could be, unless he knew something he didn’t tell me about.”

  “Maybe he had the secret of where you hid all the money you embezzled,” Chloe joked. She realized as soon as she saw the look on his face, he wasn’t exactly ready to joke about it. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I was trying to be funny, and I know it’s not funny. That was insensitive of me.”

  “Yeah, I think it’s going to take a while before I find it funny, but I know what you’re getting at.”

  “For what it’s worth, I think you’re innocent. I know I didn’t tell you that yesterday.” Chloe wasn’t just saying that because she felt bad about what she just said. She really meant it.

  He smiled gratefully. “Thank you for saying that. I wasn’t about to ask. I didn’t want to hear it if you thought I wasn’t, and it’s not like you have proof I’m innocent. You’ve really no reason to trust me.”

  “Then let’s get some.”

  “What? Proof? You’ll help me? Why would you want to do that? The last thing you need is to get dragged into this mess.”

  “I’m a pretty good judge of character, though my mom probably wouldn’t agree with that assessment as it pertains to my high school boyfriends, but my gut tells me you’re not an embezzler. Bad coffee brewer, maybe. Embezzler, not so much.”

  “Coffee’s bad?” He took a sip out of his own cup—it tasted like water—and he grimaced. “I think I may have forgotten to put fresh coffee grounds in and these were from my last pot. Sorry. I’ll make a fresh one,” he said and jumped up to make a fresh pot.

  Chloe had brought in her tote bag, and while he measured coffee and put it into a new filter, she got out a pen and pad.

  “You look ready to take notes,” he said when he came back to the table.

  “I am. I’m going to ask you some questions, and we’ll see what happens. Maybe with a fresh perspective we can come across a nugget of information that will help us figure this out.”

  “What? Who killed Bill, or who framed me?”

  “Both, I guess,” she said. “You think you were framed?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Because I know I didn’t do this, and that’s the only other explanation. Someone is out to get me.”

  “Who would want to frame you?” Chloe was well aware that corporate greed and the lengths to which some people would go for money was as cutthroat as drug dealers on the streets killing each other over a piece of the action. The corporate thugs were just more professionally dressed.

  “The same people everyone thinks I’m in bed with.”

  “Really? The Saudi Arabian companies want control of your alternative fuel source bad enough to frame you? They have the largest oil reserves in the world and aren’t going to run out anytime soon.”

  “That’s exactly why they want control over it. With GlobE coming up with alternative fuel that actually works and can be implemented in vehicles owned by everyone, not just the people who are rich enough to buy expensive hybrids, oil consumption would go way down. Then their income, and probably even more importantly, their power would diminish. That’s the whole point of this for me, to make fuel more affordable and environmentally friendly. Not everyone has the same goal.”

  Chloe thoughtfully tapped her pen on the table. “That makes sense. But why you specifically? Why not the company as a whole, and how would they be able to pull this off?” Without inside help, she thought but didn’t say.

  “They’re powerful people. I’m sure they can accomplish anything they choose. I was the one most vocally against what current oil production did to the environment. Maybe they thought if I was out of the picture it would make way for new opportunities.”

  Randall got up and took their cups into the kitchen, tossing out the now-cold, weak coffee in the sink before pouring them both a fresh cup and sitting back down. He took a drink. “Much better. I can’t believe you were going to sit there and drink that nasty coffee.”

  “I didn’t want to be rude, but then the right moment presented itself, and I couldn’t resist.”

  “Timing—”

  “Is definitely everything.” She finished his comment.

  “Yes, it is,” he said, looking at her, and she felt a spark of something. He held her gaze just a moment longer than necessary, and she wondered if he felt it too. Oh God, she was being crazy. She did not need this.

  “So, back to Bill. Why did he think you were framed?” she said, breaking the moment, or whatever it was that they had just shared.

  “He didn’t have a concrete theory at first. But then, a few days ago, he left me a voicemail excitedly telling me he thought he’d finally found the connection that could prove I was being set up.”

  “He left you this voicemail the day before he died?”

  Randall thought for a minute, and then pulled out his phone to scroll through his missed calls. “Yeah, the twenty-third, four days ago, which would have been the day before he died.”

  “Did he say what it was he found?”

  “No. Here, you can listen,” he said, pressing play on the voicemail, putting it on speaker phone, and setting it down on the table for her to hear.

  “Randall, where are you? I’ve called you twenty times. I think I found the key to this whole thing. Call me back as soon as you get this!”

  Chloe had leaned in toward the phone in order to hear better. “There was a lot of background noise and clanking. Do you have any idea where he was?”

  Randall double-checked the time stamp, which read 4:45 p.m. “I would guess at Smithy’s. It’s a bar around the corner. Bill liked to drink, and usually did so within walking distance. That was his normal hangout.”

  �
��Are they open right now?”

  “At 10:30 a.m.? Yes. They open at seven to catch the third-shift crowd.” Chloe raised her eyebrows. She couldn’t imagine drinking that early in the morning.

  “Well, it is their five o’clock,” he said, responding to the look on her face.

  While that was true, the thought of drinking at that time of day just didn’t sound even remotely appealing. She slid the notepad back in her bag and stood up.

  “C’mon. We’re going to go hang out with the third shifters.”

  Chapter 11

  “I warn you, this isn’t the type of bar you college professors are used to.”

  “How do you know what I’m used to?” she asked playfully. “You think I can’t hang with the riffraff? I have brothers, remember?”

  “I’m sure you can hold your own just about anywhere. I just wanted to convey it’s not the type of bar you would probably think of as a hangout for Bill. Though you didn’t know him, so not sure why I’d think that.”

  They reached the bar by the time Randall finished his sentence. He had been exact when he said it was right around the corner.

  Randall opened the door, and it took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the dingy light. He had not exaggerated. This was quite a dive. Stale cigarette smoke permeated the air, and her feet were sticking to the floor even though they had just walked in. She wrinkled up her nose in disgust.

  “I told you!” Randall said when he saw the expression on her face.

  “Yes, you did. Did Bill just like this place so he could walk home after having a few too many?”

  “That was part of it, but I also think he enjoyed hanging out in this environment. He told me once after a few beers that there was no pressure here. He could just relax and be who he wanted to be. No one here knew, or cared, who he was.”

  “Interesting,” Chloe said and continued to look around.

  “So, dare I ask what you are hoping to find out here? Or were you suddenly in the mood for a morning cocktail?”

  “You said he called you from here?” Chloe replied, ignoring his question.

  “That’s my assumption based on the background noise and my knowledge of his habits. He was very much a creature of routine.”

  “Okay. Then maybe someone who was here that night might remember something. You know, about his mood maybe, or if he met someone here. It’s a long shot but worth a try.”

  “It’s as good an idea as any.”

  Chloe walked up to the bar and sat down, with Randall close behind her.

  “What can I get you folks?” a friendly looking bartender, probably in his mid-fifties, said.

  “A Diet Coke and some information,” Chloe said.

  The bartender’s eyebrows raised, and he looked at Randall to hear what he wanted.

  “Same, please.”

  Without saying a word, the bartender went and got their sodas and set them down in front of them.

  “Here’s the first half of your request. And you have my interest on the second. What kind of information can I help you with?”

  “Well . . .” Chloe paused, waiting for the bartender to offer up his name.

  “Harry. You can call me Harry.”

  “Well, Harry, we are looking for some information on one of your regulars.”

  “I don’t like to gossip about patrons, ma’am. Tends to make for bad business.”

  “Harry, I can understand, and you’re right, but this is a special case, and I really need your help. The guy’s name is Bill Peterson.”

  Harry made a face. “Didn’t I just hear on the news that fellow was murdered?”

  “That’s why we’re here.”

  “You all don’t look like cops.”

  “We’re not. We just have what you would call a vested interest in finding out what happened.”

  Harry thought for a moment and took a hard look at Randall. Chloe stayed silent, knowing there was a good chance Harry would recognize Randall.

  “You’re that fella that’s been in the news too.” Harry pointed to Randall, making the connection. “I thought you looked familiar.” He chuckled, seemingly proud of himself that he recognized Randall.

  “Yes.” Randall finally spoke. “Bill was my attorney.”

  “I know that. He was mighty proud of the fact that he was taking on your case. Talked about it a lot.”

  Chloe looked at Randall, who appeared surprised.

  “Yeah, he told anyone who would listen that you were innocent and he was going to prove it. Of course, that was after he had a few beers in him and he loosened up a little. Before a few beers he was a little uptight, if I do say so myself.”

  “Harry, were you working four nights ago? Do you remember Bill being in here?” Chloe asked.

  “Four nights ago. That would have been Sunday night. No. I’m off on Sundays.”

  “Is there a way to get in touch with whoever worked Sunday night?”

  “Brian is the guy you’d want to talk to, but he only works on Sundays so the rest of us can have a day off.”

  Chloe didn’t want to wait three more days to come back and talk to Brian.

  “Could you give us his number?” Chloe could tell Harry didn’t like that idea by his hesitation, so she tried another tactic. “Or I could give you my number, and maybe you could call and ask him to call me?” Harry seemed to like that better as he grabbed a pen and paper from below the bar and stood ready to write her number down. She gave it to him, and he scrawled it across the paper, put the paper in his pocket, and promised her he would call Brian right away. Chloe and Randall thanked him and walked out of the bar, and for a few seconds, Chloe saw spots while her eyes once again adjusted to the bright light.

  “That wasn’t much help,” Randall said as they started walking back to his house. He seemed defeated. She couldn’t imagine how it must feel to have everyone think you were guilty of something when you weren’t.

  “Don’t say that. It was helpful. This Brian guy might have some useful information, and a might is better than nothing.”

  When they reached the house a few seconds later, Chloe said, “I need to head back to school, but I will call you as soon as I hear something.”

  “Okay.”

  As she reached her car, he called out, “Hey, Chloe.” She turned and looked at him. “Thank you.”

  She smiled. “No problem.”

  Chapter 12

  “Professor Parsons, are you busy?”

  Startled, Chloe looked up to see Roger standing in the doorway. It was early, not quite seven, but she’d had another sleepless night, so she thought she would come in and catch up on some reading, which was now putting her asleep. Pretty ironic, she thought.

  “What are you doing here so early, Roger?”

  “Well . . .” He paused and seemed very fidgety. Chloe set down the book she had been holding and waited.

  “Can I sit down?”

  “Sure,” Chloe said slowly, wondering what this could possibly be about that made him look so nervous.

  “I have a confession to make,” he said, his left knee jiggling.

  “Okay. What is it, Roger? Don’t have your homework done for the day?” she said jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Oh no, Professor Parsons. I have my homework done. It’s not about that.”

  Chloe had to suppress a laugh at the horrified look on his face that she was assuming was from the thought of incomplete homework. He needed to relax a little.

  “I don’t know how to say this, but I’m the one who broke into your office.”

  “What?” she asked, thinking she didn’t hear him right, as his comment was completely unexpected.

  “I-I’m the one who broke into your office yesterday. I’m really sorry,” he said sincerely, but Chloe was thoroughly confused by what he was saying. Surely she wasn’t hearing him right.

  “Roger, I don’t understand. Why on earth would you do such a thing? Do you realize how much trouble you could be in? They could k
ick you out of school for this. Not to mention, why? Why would you break in and trash my office when it’s really not even my office?”

  “I know, I know. That’s why I’m telling you. I thought if I could explain why, you would understand,” he said, hanging his head.

  “It’s not so much me, Roger, but the university and the police. In light of, well, everything going on here lately, you’re going to be in serious trouble for this.”

  “Just, please, listen to what I have to say.”

  “Okay, but then you’re going to have to tell the police.”

  He nodded. A few moments went by, and he finally started to speak. “Bill Peterson is my dad. Or, well, he was.”

  Chloe was shocked, to say the least. While she had no idea why he would do it, she wanted to stay silent until he could get out the entire story.

  “I just found out a few months ago myself. My mom passed away, and I found letters between her and Bill, spelling out their past and things that led up to now, then after.”

  “And you already had plans to come to school here?” Chloe broke in.

  Roger shook his head. “Not at the time. I got lucky. I tracked him to here and applied to be a guest student and was accepted. Lucky for me, summer session doesn’t have a lot of competition, and I did well in undergrad, so it wasn’t too hard.”

  Chloe nodded and motioned for him to continue.

  “I thought if I could get to know him, it would help me decide if I should tell him who I was. I figured there had to be a reason he didn’t want to be in my life, and I couldn’t tell from the letters what that was. Then, before I could even meet him, he was murdered.”

  “Roger, I am truly sorry this has happened, but I don’t understand why you would break into this office. What did you think was here?”

  “I don’t know. I thought maybe there were things of his that had been moved in here. I just wanted to try and get to know him. I know it was stupid,” he said, hanging his head.