Angel Food and Devil Dogs - A Maggie Gale Mystery

by Liz Bradbury

  “A guest? An intruder? An accidental tourist?” I suggested.

  “Well, all of the above... but, I shouldn’t complain, it’s not bad. I guess I’ll probably be there next semester too. In the summer I can look for something else.”

  “Irwin will be going on winter break soon, will you go away?” I asked deeply interested in her reply.

  “I don’t usually go anywhere for the holidays... it never seems to work out. Going to Maine in winter is rarely a wise move. I get about four weeks off. I might go someplace warm, just to break the winter up. I lived in California for much of last year and I’m not used to this weather yet. I’d like to go walk on a warm beach somewhere, but I’m not a sun worshiper or anything like that. I get sunburned too easily.”

  “Fair skin. I can see why you’d avoid the sun. I do too. My sisters, well, they’re actually my stepsisters, can sit on the beach for hours and they never get anything but a lovely tan. I just scorch... Northern Florida is comfortable in the winter. My friends Farrel and Jessie have a place there.”

  “I’ve heard it’s nice, I’ll try it some time, but I have to admit, I’ve been in so many airports in the last few months, I’d rather not fly anywhere for a while,” she said earnestly. “In fact, after all the flights I’ve had to take, I’d be happy if I never flew anywhere again.”

  “It sounds like you’ve been moving from place to place for a long time. Are you going to stay in Fenchester now?”

  “I think so. I’ve been traveling for years, and it was interesting, but I don’t want to travel for work any more. I guess I’m just getting too old for it.” She said the last part with an amused tone as though she’d just figured it out. That she planned to stay in the neighborhood made me absurdly happy, even though I knew very little about her. We were starting to walk east on the north side of the Mews now. We were only two blocks away from the Hampshire apartment building and closing fast. This stroll was going to end too soon unless I calculated a stalling tactic.

  “Let’s walk over to the Monument,” I suggested gesturing across the street. Washington Mews is a two by two block square with four distinct quadrants. They include an arboretum and a bocce court. Dead center is the Soldier and Sailor’s monument honoring Civil War veterans. It’s an impressive memorial, one of the few in the country that honors both armies.

  Life-sized statues of men in Union and Confederate uniforms occupy the first level. Steps ascend several more levels to the base of a typically phallic obelisk that’s etched with quotes from presidents, generals, and poets. On the highest level, four park benches face each compass point. I swept the snow off a bench when we reached them. We sat under the Gettysburg Address facing east toward the moon.

  “Top of the world,” she said softly, without any sarcasm. Because it did feel that way. The snow distorted the landscape, making everything seem even and smooth. The contrasting dark shadows cast by the bright moonlight created a surreal depth like a black and white photo with no gray tones.

  “I’m channeling DiChirico,” I said thinking of the surrealist painter famous for odd shadows and dramatic perspective.

  She turned toward me resting her arm on the back of the bench, propping her head against her gloved hand. She looked incredibly beautiful. The cold tinted her clear porcelain skin slightly pink at the cheekbones. The bright moonlight brought out the auburn highlights in her hair and the dark blue in her eyes.

  She said, “I talked to Max Bouchet last night, he told me everything he could. He said you were heroic!”

  “Did he tell you about Daniel Cohen and Connie Robinson?”

  “Daniel’s quick thinking in fighting the fire and Connie throwing that marble pedestal out the window? Wasn’t that something? And the look on Daniel’s face when she did it? He told me about that too,” she said shaking her head lightly, imagining the scene.

  “I’m sure Max Bouchet didn’t mention his own heroics. He took a huge risk to save Bart.”

  “No, he didn’t tell me that, what did he do?” she asked with interest.

  I told her about Max crawling under the table to help pull Bart out of the fire, finishing with, “He was amazing in the press conference. I was very impressed.”

  “Max is an impressive man. I’ve known him a long time... But, what a terrible thing to happen to Bart and Georgia... I feel so odd about it. Almost guilty that I only escaped it all by luck.” She looked thoughtful and concerned, “Max says Bart and Georgia will be all right but I’ve heard Georgia was very seriously burned. Is Max being honest about their recovery or is he trying to be the up-beat positive administrator?”

  “She’s in intensive care. Burns can be tricky. I think Bart will be fine, but it’s hard to tell about Georgia. She’s young and strong, she has that going for her.”

  “What really happened? Can you tell me?”

  Max Bouchet was sure that Dr. Kathryn Anthony was not a suspect in Carl Rasmus’s murder. He was probably right. The strongest evidence pointed that way, but before I talked about the case with her, I needed just a little more information from a few other people. Soon we could discuss the whole thing. But now just wasn’t a good time to talk about murder and arson. We were alone together in the moonlight. First encounters are rarely cast in such a romantic setting. I really would be a fool to spoil the moment with a discussion about crime.

  “It sounds like Max Bouchet told you everything about the fire. As for the rest of it, I have to get some more information before talking about it... I’d like to discuss it with you later in the week though. In fact, I’d really appreciate talking to you about it tomorrow afternoon or maybe Friday, after I’ve had a chance to collect a few more pieces of information? For now though, let’s skip talking about work...”

  “All right then, I won’t ask you any work questions now.” She paused for an instant considering me. “I’m free late in the day on Friday. Tomorrow the only time I have free is lunchtime, but someday, I’d like to ask you if your job is anything at all like being Nancy Drew.”

  I laughed, “It’s more like being Joe Friday, especially when I was actually on the police force. All that stuff on Dragnet that seemed to be so painfully slow and boring, really is painfully slow and boring, even more so. I haven’t been a P.I. on my own for that long, but so far it does seem to be a little more interesting than being a police officer. Probably because I get to pick the cases I want to work on. On the other hand, there is the actual question of earning a salary... which is much more regular when you’re a union cop. Were you a big Nancy Drew fan?”

  She was listening to me intently. We were sitting fairly close. The air was clear and crisp. I could smell a hint of, I guessed Chanel. I should do a study on the scents of perfume. It would be impressively Sherlock Holmesian if I could tell exactly what perfume still wafted at a crime scene. It could also be impressive to women I might want to date. It had been a very long time since I’d had a date. It had been even longer since I’d been this fascinated by anyone. Be a detective, I said to myself, find out if she’s a lesbian. That’s the task for the evening. If she isn’t, then at least you can stop wasting your imagination. Yeah, I said to myself, find out if she’s gay and then if she is... set a date to see her again. This was good, I’m task oriented. Now I had goals.

  “I just have to ask you one more thing,” she said, “are there a lot of suspects?”

  “Sometimes, I’ve had cases with no leads at all and it’s hard even to find anything to investigate. This is not one of those cases. There are plenty of suspects,” I admitted.

  “Do you think I’m a suspect?” she asked curiously.

  “Oh my... should I?” I asked smiling.

  “Shouldn’t you? Trust no one...” she said in a Mata Hari accent and then smiled back.

  “See, you must have been a Nancy Drew fan to say something like that! Or maybe Hercule? To answer your question, I think you have a pretty good alibi. Being in Seattle during the first death and in a limo on the way to Harrisburg during t
he explosion...”

  “So you’ve already investigated me? I was a suspect, before?” she asked wryly.

  “Trust no one,” I replied in a deep voice.

  A half smile appeared, as though she was about to say something very provocative. It made her face even more intriguing. She said, “Well, for what it’s worth, I didn’t do it.”

  “Good, that narrows it down. You have just made my job twelve and a half percent easier.”

  “I still might have important information though. Don’t you want to interrogate me?”

  She’d made it sound so suggestive that I was barely able to steady my voice when I answered, “Is that something you’d like me to do? What do you imagine it would be like?”

  She raised her eyebrows a little, paused and then answered in a deep tone, “I’d bet you’d be very good at it. I’m sure you’d know exactly the right things to do, to encourage someone to respond... in a satisfying way. Tell me how you... do it.”

  Maggie, I thought to myself, I believe this woman is flirting with you. I smiled back, inclined my head a little and continued the game, “Some investigators have a deep and pressing need to work very quickly and sometimes that can be... exciting... but I feel the best way is to go very slowly and explore every avenue... seeing to every detail... meeting every need... for the entire experience to be... intensely gratifying for everyone involved,” I said in a low voice.

  “So you like to take your time? Pay attention to all the nuances? Were you best at being the good cop, or the bad cop?” she whispered into the still night.

  I answered slowly, “I can be very good, but I’m better when I’m bad...”

  We were staring into each other’s eyes. She tipped her chin down a bit but still kept eye contact. She made a humming noise. Very sexy, like a soft anticipatory growl.

  After quite a long moment I said, “It’s gotten quite a bit warmer out here hasn’t it?”

  She laughed deep in her throat. Then she shook herself a little.

  “What made you go into law enforcement?” Kathryn asked using a much less sensual tone. She’d taken charge of setting the direction of the conversation. The game was over... for now anyway.

  “I didn’t start out with that in mind. I decided to apply for the police force because someone I knew needed the help of the police and what they got was inadequate. I wanted to fix that, which was idealistic and naive, but I did get a lot of experience. I’m glad I’m on my own now, but I don’t regret my years on the force. However...” I said, “this is still too much like talking about work, let’s talk about something else.”

  “How about if I ask you this, do you know any people who work at Irwin?”

  “Sure, Farrel Case is my closest friend, she teaches woodworking and furniture design. Um... Charles Majors in the Art History Department, he’s a good friend too...” I mentioned some others, then thought for a moment, “and Judith Levi, she’s retired now but she was an English Professor. Then there are all those people who teach there and live in the Mews. I didn’t know Amanda Knightbridge directs the Art History Department until yesterday, but I’ve been saying hello to her in the Mews for years.”

  Kathryn was looking at me with full concentration. She said purposefully, “I’ve heard you knew Susan Fuller when she was here for the exchange program with the Slade?”

  “Yes, I knew Susan then. That was several years ago, I was still a cop.” I didn’t add that I’d had a torrid affair with Susan Fuller. It’d been full of hot scene playing sex that featured her fascination with my handcuffs. It went on non-stop for five days, then ended because she had to go back to England. Fun while it lasted, something to think about erotically, but not the kind of thing to build a future on.

  “Do you know her?” I asked innocently.

  “We’ve never met, I’ve read her books... Is she a lesbian?”

  Huh, that was direct. Well, Susan isn’t closeted; she speaks about being a lesbian in her lectures and on her web site. So I certainly wasn’t betraying a confidence by saying, “Yes she is.”

  Kathryn Anthony paused a beat, and then she asked, “Are you?”

  “Yes, I am. Are you?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly, and there was that sexy half smile again.

  Hey, how about that, I congratulated myself, am I some detective or what!?! Of course I had to admit that I didn’t have to do a lot of tricky ferreting to deduce the lesbian thing. Maybe I should just pose yes or no questions all the time... I could just ask suspects, “So, did you embezzle the funds?” Or, “Did you bomb the conference room?” And maybe they’d just answer, yes. Think of the time I could save! Perhaps I’ve been going about this private eye stuff all wrong.

  Anyway, I checked off number one on my list of tasks for the evening. I was pleased with myself and damn pleased with her answer. Now for the second task... arrange to see her again. But maybe first I should be sure she isn’t already involved with somebody. That would be a bummer. She’d been pretty darn direct in the last round. I figured I could serve the next volley.

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “No,” she said simply, she turned and looked up at the moon. “Even though I’ve been part of Irwin’s faculty for years, I’ve traveled so much that I really don’t know many people here in Fenchester.” She turned back to me. “How about you?”

  Back into my court! She might be better at this than I am. I still couldn’t tell yet if she was interested or just had a very direct, provocative manner. Maybe she flirted with everyone. Maybe she was just nosy. Can’t blame her for that, God knows I’m a snoop.

  “No, I’m not seeing anyone.” I looked steadily back into her dark blue eyes, in this light; it was impossible to see any separation between her irises and pupils. It was stirring and also a bit disconcerting. After a moment she turned and looked out over the Mews again. The light from the moon illuminated her face, highlighting her cheekbones. Have I mentioned I’m a sucker for cheekbones?

  “But you have lots of friends here...” she said still looking at the Mews, “so, what do you do for fun?”

  “That’s a complex question,” I said with amusement. “Fun is relative. Right now I’ve been working with friends to rehab my living space. I make art. I volunteer in the summer at the Latino Community Center, teaching kids crafts. As far as entertainment goes I like the standard things, including an occasional walk in the moonlight, although they’re fairly rare... putting it that way my life sounds pretty dull, except the moonlight walks part.”

  “I don’t think it sounds dull, I’m glad you didn’t say watching Monday Night Football.”

  “I hate football, I’m not much into organized sports,” I laughed. “Do you think they’ll make me turn in my dyke card?”

  “I hope not, then I’d have to, too.” She shifted gears again, “Were you out at work?”

  “Very. I did pro-gay activism in the union and on the force and it got a lot of press. It was needed at the time and is probably why I don’t work there any more. One of the reasons anyway. It’s a long, somewhat unpleasant story. Doesn’t suit this atmosphere. Let’s just say that I’m out as I can be and proud of it. How out are you? “

  She sighed, “I’ve done political work... and I edited a book about lesbian artists. I was the advisor for a university gay/straight alliance. I’ve served on the Governor’s committee for higher education as a representative of the gay community and...” she paused to think, “oh and I’ve been in public forum discussions on same-sex marriage that were televised in Pennsylvania and New York... and in California too. I figured as a tenured professor with a fairly understanding family, if I can’t be an out advocate, then how could I expect anyone else to be one?” She was speaking passionately. I admired that kind of attitude, which made me glad the subject had come up. I certainly could never have much respect for someone who was closeted. She seemed to feel the same way. The passion brought a glint to her eye that was seductive all by itself.

  “Has it ever b
een a problem for you, being so out?” I asked recalling the harassment I’d received from some of my brothers in blue when I was on the force.

  She nodded, “Sure, when I was on television debating in favor of gay/straight student alliances, I got a dandy series of hate mail and I got death threats after a same-sex marriage panel.”

  “Did they catch the perp? As we say in the business...”

  “They didn’t even bother to look,” she said sardonically.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  “It was something I chose to do. Frankly, I don’t respond well to threats, they made me double my efforts.”

  “So I guess I don’t have to ask whether you’re out to all your friends?”

  “Seems to be a given for both of us,” she said as I nodded affirmation. “It’s a shame but, I actually know some gay people even today who are closeted to people they consider their closest friends. I know this one lesbian who spends most of her time with another woman who is so homophobic that she spews vitriolic anti-gay hate language constantly.”

  “Uh huh, and the punchline: They’re secretly in love with each other and the stress and frustration of that has made them bitter bigots instead of a happy family of loving partners,” I said.

  “And they both teach at a women’s college!”

  “You’re kidding, is it a religious college?”

  “No, no, it’s actually a fairly liberal school...” she said in exasperation, shaking her head.

  “Internalized homophobia...” I shot back.

  “Yes, exactly,” she said in rapid acknowledgment.

  We both paused. I smiled saying, “You know one of the great things about being a lesbian is that you get to argue with people you agree with.”