by Angela Hunt
As if he’d read my mind, the cop tapped my shoulder. “Any word from your missing professor?”
“None.”
“Maybe he’ll be waiting when you get home. If he is, give us a call, okay? Otherwise, we’re sending an officer over. Since your guy’s been gone twenty-four hours, you can file an official missing persons report now.”
I thanked him, then gestured to Tank. “Let’s go find Brenda and Daniel. And let’s hope Officer Edwards is right about the professor coming back.”
We walked into a quiet house that seemed to be waiting for us. Even Abby, who was waiting for us in the foyer, skipped her usual canine fandango and greeted us with small licks of our hands.
I dropped my house key on the foyer table, then listened for sounds of life. I heard nothing but the slam of car doors outside as Brenda and Daniel brought up the rear. Dust motes danced in a beam of sunlight from the open door, but nothing else moved.
“Professor?” I called out, clinging to the slim hope that he would answer.
No reply.
I knew I ought to go to the professor’s room and start looking for clues, but something in me was not at all comfortable with going through his things. We had been good friends, yes, and co-workers, but he had never intruded in my private life and I never wanted to intrude in his. I felt free to go through his professional papers and to open any documents he placed in our shared dropbox, but I would never have dared to snoop among his personal files, paper or digital.
“Anyone hungry?” I asked, heading toward the kitchen. “I could make a bowl of tuna salad, if anyone wants to make a sandwich. There are cold cuts in the fridge, and maybe some hot dogs, if anyone wants to nuke a couple of them . . .”
Brenda made tsking noises with her tongue, her way of rebuking my lack of attention to proper nutrition, but I had more important things on my mind. My boss had gone missing from my home, and I felt personally responsible. Plus, he was my boss . . .
I stopped, my hand on the kitchen counter, as a memory suddenly surfaced. That night, after he’d made me promise to print that group selfie, he had kissed me . . . the first and only time he’d ever done so. What was that about? I had assumed he was only feeling nostalgic, but what if he’d known something was about to happen to him? What if he’d been receiving messages or threats, and didn’t tell me or the others because he didn’t want to worry us?
I turned to Brenda, who was pulling out cheese and mayonnaise out of the fridge. “Has the professor said anything unusual to you lately? Anything about threats or anyone who might want to hurt him?”
Brenda scowled. “Are you kidding? If I knew someone wanted to hurt him, I’d tell them to go for it. Put the man in his place.”
I ignored her barb and looked at Tank, who had already taken a seat at the table. “How about you, Tank? Did the professor mention anything odd to you?”
His brow wrinkled, then he shook his head. “I don’t understand half of what he says, but none of it seemed any stranger than usual.”
I drew a deep breath. “I miss him,” I confessed. “It feels strange for us to be together without him. I feel like we’re kids bumbling around in confusion because our father’s been taken away.”
Brenda rolled her eyes. “He ain’t no father of mine. And if he decided to walk out on us, that’s fine with me. Maybe we can finally get a little peace and quiet around here.”
I dropped to one knee so I could look Daniel in the eye. “Little buddy,” I said, gripping his hands, “can you see any one else in the room? Anyone besides me and you and Brenda and Tank?”
He lifted his gaze and scanned the space around us, then checked out the corners of the ceiling. “No,” he said finally, lowering his gaze to meet mine. “Just us.”
“No professor?”
He shook his head as the doorbell rang.
Officer Edwards stood outside, along with a man and woman in plain clothes. “Hey,” Edwards said, gesturing to me. “This is Abby Goldstein and these—” he pointed to the people behind him—“are Lewis and Brandolini, crime scene techs. If you could show us to the professor’s room . . .”
I nodded and let them in, then led the way to the bedroom the professor had been using. “Everything’s just as he left it,” I said. “I looked around in here, but didn’t want to mess anything up in case—well, you know. So you might find my fingerprints, and my grandparents’, but—”
“I doubt we’ll be fingerprinting,” the woman, Lewis, said, “since this doesn’t appear to be a crime scene. We’re just going to take a look around and see if we can pick up any ideas about where your professor might have gone.”
“I don’t think he went anywhere,” I insisted. “He’s not from this area, so where would he go? He wasn’t the type to sit in a bar, and as a recovering alcoholic, he didn’t drink. He didn’t particularly like the beach—”
“What does he like?” Brandolini asked. “Everybody likes something.”
“He likes books.” I crossed my arms and nodded toward the stack of books on the desk. “He likes to read. He’s super intelligent, so he doesn’t do what other people do.”
“We’ll keep that in mind.” Lewis pulled a pair of rubber gloves from her pocket, then drew them on. “We’ll call you if we need you.”
Taking the hint, I went back to the kitchen.
By the time the police had finished in the professor’s room, Brenda, Daniel, Tank, and I had cleared out the kitchen and gone to the living room. Officer Edwards led the two techs down the hallway, then stood by the fireplace and kept his head down as he held a sheet of paper with two fingers.
“I’m glad you’re all together,” he said, lifting the paper. “I found this document on McKinney’s computer and clicked print, not sure what would happen. When I heard the sound of printing from the room across the hallway, I realized his laptop had been wirelessly connected.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I set it up so he could print the speech he gave at UT.”
“Anyway—” Officer Edwards looked directly at me— “he addressed this letter to you, Ms. Goldstein, but it’s really for everyone. Maybe you should read it.”
I tried to stand, but my legs suddenly felt as solid as marshmallows and I sank back into the sofa. Edwards saw my predicament and stepped forward, handing me the note.
I skimmed the heading, saw that the letter had been dated on the day he took our group photo, and began to read:
Dear friends—
I have come to feel a profound respect for all of you, even Ms. Barnick, so perhaps you should consider this my tribute to the courage that resides in each of your hearts.
Tank, you are a prime example of how appearances can be deceiving. Though you look like an overgrown fireplug and have the intellect of a tree stump, you possess a wisdom not often found in more educated and cultured men. I salute you, sir, and give you my respect. And as to that flaming brightness for which you hold great affection, I must warn you—men have been burned by such passions. Do not be like the man who spent all he had on a treasure he could neither hold nor handle.
Daniel, while I was at first unconvinced that a child could be of any practical use in such a motley crew as ours, I have come to appreciate your gifts and your sense of timing in particular. Furthermore, your attachment to Ms. Barnick has proved useful in that it has shut her mouth on more than one occasion. Good lad. Grow in peace, Daniel, and if it is possible for me to peer through space and time in order to keep tabs on you, know that I will do so.
Brenda, my sharp-tongued, nicotine-stained, misanthropic acquaintance: as much as I hate to admit it, your particular gift has saved my shriveled and cynical behind more than once, so for that I thank you. And if the passing years sprinkle your waspish nature with the proverbial spoonful of sugar, be a dear and dust it off, will you? I cannot imagine you other than you are.
Andrea—first, dear girl, please accept my apology for any worry or trouble this has caused you, especially considering that I am writing this i
n your home. But though you have never pried or queried, you surely must know that I have made many regrettable choices on my journey along the path of life. I have therefore decided to end this path. I have learned all I need to know.
I digress. So sorry. I am giving my old apartment the boot— key inside ceramic ant. Landlord has been busy traveling so don’t expect him to repaint. Rent due on seventh. File speech copy under “dimension,” please, for others may wish to read. Remember— unlike me, you never needed help. Godspeed.
I bid all of you a fond farewell.
Sincerely,
James McKinney
I lowered the printed page as the professor’s words tumbled and leap-frogged in my head. What was this about? The letter read almost like a last will and testament, but the professor had left us no property, and he certainly hadn’t—
“We think James McKinney is dead,” Edwards said, locking his hands. “This letter is his suicide note.”
Suicide? I blinked at Edwards, then turned to the others. “That’s impossible—isn’t it?”
Tank grunted. “The professor wouldn’t kill himself. He was too smart for that.”
“The big guy is right,” Brenda said, thrusting out her chin in the professor’s defense. “The professor wasn’t the type to off himself. No way.”
“There’s no proof,” I pointed out. “And this letter says nothing about killing himself.”
Edwards took the letter from my hand. “I have decided to end this path,” he read. “That’s the language of suicide.”
“He wasn’t the suicidal type,” Tank repeated. “No way.”
“He was clearly distraught,” Edwards said, bracing one arm on the fireplace mantle. “And distraught people often write or say things that don’t make much sense. They’re confused. They’re upset. They ramble, they put down words that don’t fit and they don’t care. After all, they’re set on checking out.”
“But how would he do that?” I challenged. “There’s no body. No blood. No empty pill bottle.”
“There’s an ocean.” The female crime tech pointed to the water beyond the sliding doors. “All he had to do was walk across the beach, enter the water, and swim toward the horizon. Eventually he would have gotten tired and drowned.”
“But the body—”
“Will wash up eventually . . . or not.” Edwards clamped his lips together. “I hate to be indelicate, but sometimes the body is devoured by predators.”
I lowered my head as a vein began to throb near my temple. None of this could be happening. Nothing made sense to me, and though I was usually quick to spot a pattern in any series of events, numbers, or diagrams, I couldn’t see any pattern in the past few days.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice hoarse. “If . . . you find anything—”
“If we have any news, we’ll be sure to call or come by,” Officer Edwards said, his face grim. “And I’m very sorry for your loss.” He looked around the group. “I’m very sorry for all of you.”
Chapter Eleven
After the cops left, I went outside and sat on the deck. The usual ocean breeze had turned into a real wind, rising the edge of an approaching thunderstorm. Dark clouds loomed over the gulf, and the wind pushed at my cheeks as if urging me to go inside.
Fat chance. I wasn’t ready to face the others.
As the professor’s assistant, I felt a mantle of responsibility hovering over my shoulders, and I wasn’t ready to be the leader, the hostess, or anything else I was expected to be. All I wanted was time alone to sit and feel whatever it was I had to feel once my emotions sorted themselves out.
We were all struggling to deal with our emotions. Brenda had gone immediately to her room, and soon the sounds of cursing and crashing objects came through the door. Of course she would be angry—she had only begun to open that steel door around her heart, but with this loss, she’d probably slam it shut again.
I had worried about Daniel—he didn’t respond well when stressed, and I had no idea how he would react to the news that the professor would no longer be with us. But after the police left, Daniel got up and went into the professor’s bedroom. I followed, curious about what he might want, and watched from the doorway as Daniel ran his hand over the desk, the laptop, the notebooks, even the professor’s pajamas and suitcase. Finally he moved to the nightstand, where he ran his hand over McKinney’s phone and watch.
Daniel picked up the watch and turned to look at me, a question in his eyes. “Yes,” I said. “You can have it.”
I helped him put strap it on his slender wrist, then watched as Daniel went back down the hallway, his right hand holding the bulky watch securely on his left wrist.
We all mourned in different ways.
I heard the rumble of the sliding doors behind me, but didn’t turn to see who was coming out. Maybe if I stayed quiet, the intruder would realize that I didn’t want company.
I brushed the wetness off my cheeks and turned my head toward the south, then heard a heavy creak of a board behind me. Only Tank was heavy enough to creak boards like that.
Next thing I knew he was sitting beside me. I looked at him, about to tell him I wanted to be by myself for a while, but he spoke first: “A person shouldn’t have to cry alone.”
“No, no—I’m okay. Really. You don’t have to babysit me.”
“I wasn’t talking about you.”
And then, while I watched in total astonishment, Tank covered his face with his hands and went completely to pieces.
We wept together, of course—the big lug in my arms and I in his. And when we had cried long enough for the clouds to start weeping in sympathy, we got up and walked onto the beach, both of us ignoring the rain that felt like cold needles on our faces.
I kept asking myself why the professor’s death affected me so deeply. I had never been in love with him, so it wasn’t like he was my one great passion, but I admired and respected him deeply. I also—though he would not have wanted to hear this—pitied him in many ways. He could be charming, warm, loving, and paternal, but few people ever saw those traits because he hid them beneath a mantle woven of bitterness and cynicism.
I couldn’t stand thinking of him in the past tense.
Tank was no longer crying, but those broad shoulders were slumped beneath the weight of grief he carried. We were all feeling the loss, and if we stayed together, we’d feel it for years to come. The professor’s absence would be visible every time we sat at the dining table and every time we rode in a car. No one would sit in his favorite chair when we gathered in my grandparents’ living room, and we still tiptoed past the bedroom he’d used out of respect for the hours he spent studying there.
Officer Edwards clearly agreed with the crime techs; the professor had committed suicide. He must have seen me punch in the security alarm code, so after kissing me goodnight, while I was in the shower or noisily brushing my teeth, he had disarmed the system, then re-armed it again, taking advantage of the thirty-second window in which he could open a door and slip out without sounding the alarm. According to the Officer Edwards’s theory, the professor had been walking across these sands as I got ready for bed, and he had been swimming for Mexico by the time I fell asleep.
He would have been dead by the time I woke the next morning.
Even though the logical part of my brain understood that scenario and even appreciated that the professor hadn’t killed himself in my grandparents’ house, something else in me refused to accept that idea. Reason protested that James McKinney was about as likely to kill himself as he was to sprout a fish’s tail. Impossible. Unlikely. Categorically out of the question.
“Umm.” Tank paused as if he were fishing for words. “What do we do now?”
I shrugged and blinked up at the rain. “Beats me.”
“Do you think we’ll keep going . . . as a group, I mean? Whoever’s been sending us plane tickets and invitations, do you think they’ll keep doing it?”
“I don’t know, Tank. I don’t know any
more than you do.” My words came out harsher than I’d intended, and my conscience smacked me when I saw the hurt on Tank’s face. “Listen.” I turned and took his hands. “I’m sorry. But I’m as confused as you, maybe even more. I’ve not only lost my boss, I’ve lost . . . who I am. I was his assistant, his right hand, and I could have kept being his right hand forever. Now I don’t know what I’m going to do for a job, for a career, for . . . anything.”
My voice broke. I started to turn away, but Tank drew me close and patted my back, like a daddy comforting a little girl. “It’s gonna be okay, Andi,” he said, his voice a reassuring growl in my ear. “Though what the cops said made no sense, I guess maybe suicide never makes much sense. No matter how well you think you know a person, nobody can ever really know what’s going on inside someone else’s head—”
“But I did know,” I insisted, pulling away. “I knew him better than anyone! I knew he was fixated on his studies into other dimensions, that he was all excited about that presentation. He kept saying that if we could find a way to bend time, we could go back and repair all the damage we’d done in our past, that we could start over. He wasn’t finished with his work, but our encounters with those different universes had given him new ideas and he was just beginning a new phase of—”
I halted as a sharp shard of memory sliced into my thoughts. I have made many regrettable choices on my journey along the path of life. I have therefore decided to end this path.
What if the professor hadn’t been writing about suicide at all?
“Holy cats.” I pulled away from Tank and ran for the house.
Chapter Twelve
“Andi, what are you doing?”
“I think—” I pressed my hands to the side of my head in an effort to still my spinning thoughts. “I think he was talking about dimensions, not death. He wanted to end a third-dimension path, that’s all. Where’s that darn letter?”