It was my turn, and Chloe asked the same questions of me. I acknowledged I worked with him, and she mentioned his avocation as a chef, almost baiting me. I told her honestly I hadn’t known that. I turned the tables a bit, and asked her if she had heard anything interesting.
After stating she certainly wasn’t one to gossip, she repeated the comment about the rec center and some customers not wanting to go back or have their kids go back there. She also shared that there seemed to be a lot of talk about his being a ladies’ man, and not always in a positive light. Some of the customers seemed to think he was immoral and deserved to be killed.
Chloe said she heard talk from some students who had been in, too. At least one had idolized the man and got all choked up when his name was mentioned. Other students talked about how nice he was, and how nice looking he was. She stopped and caught my eyes in the mirror and asked, “Was he that hot, Sheridan?”
I chuckled and commented, “I guess if you like the beach boy type.” I asked if she had heard anything else.
As she finished my hair, she said other customers talked about how it couldn’t possibly be a murder. They said Chief Pfeiffe was making a mountain out of a mole hill. At least one customer commented on a nice looking State detective, and no one seemed to know why the State Police were involved. After she finished my hair, I tipped her, thanked her for the cut and information, and asked if she would tell me the name of the lady before me.
She shrugged and said something about hairdressers not exactly promising confidentiality. She said the woman was Julia Cramer. I tried not to hide my surprise though I was quite sure my mouth dropped to my feet. The wife of the President of Cold Creek College involved at least on the periphery with Adam? If that was the case, then in all likelihood it was one of those women who specifically called and asked for State Police involvement. Maybe it was even her.
Still in shock, I made my way to the other end of the salon to get my nails done. Seated in the last of the massage chairs, I tried to get my head around what I had heard. I looked around to the others in the chairs and nodded and smiled to the one person I recognized from Cold Creek College.
I couldn’t remember her name. I remembered she was in Sociology though, and had to wonder if she had been involved with Adam. Of course, at this point, I found myself wondering about anyone who was female and breathing. And even more so if they happened to be blonde and breathing.
“You’re in Psychology aren’t you?” she asked. When I nodded, she continued, “I see you all the time, you and the red head that is. How are you all holding up?” The last part she asked quietly.
“I’m Sheridan, by the way. We are all pretty shook but holding up pretty well considering the circumstances. Aside from the interruptions of the investigation, we obviously are dealing with students and shifted course responsibilities,” I answered trying to avoid any further discussion of Adam. At the very least, I didn’t want to be the one to direct the conversation to Adam.
“I’m Yolanda. The State guy was hot, but he hasn’t bothered any of us since Monday. Your group must be keeping him busy,” she commented, possibly looking for information.
“Understandable, I guess, after all we worked with Adam,” I answered and shrugged my shoulders. Trying to be nonchalant, I asked, “So did you even know him?”
“Not me, not my type. But he apparently dated one of my colleagues. That was all that the detective asked about,” she answered.
“Stressful situation for everyone I guess,” was my noncommittal answer. The girl doing my nails, Lily, interrupted to ask me about color and I gave her the polish.
“Well, I think I’m dry and have errands to run. Hard to believe we start the rat race on Monday,” Yolanda said as she left.
I sighed in relief as I didn’t want to answer questions about Adam, though I would happily take in information. After she left, a few of the other ladies getting their nails done commented on how sad it was, who they knew at Cold Creek, and how they hoped the killer would be identified soon.
Once my nails were done, I went back home. I called Kim and we agreed to go the matinee and see the chick flick people were raving about, and then go to dinner. The movie wasn’t very crowded that early, but the movie might not have been a great choice. As is the case with most chick flicks, there was of course a romance. In this case the woman chose the gigolo over the accountant. In the end, the gigolo was just that, and the accountant rescues her. Unfortunately, the gigolo part hit a little too close for Kim.
We went to dinner and, trying to cheer her up, I likened the accountant to Wayne. Little did we know he would be at the Grill. It was awkward as usual with Wayne, but it did take Kim’s mind off Adam.
Wayne, of course, was all concerned. He worried the detective had overstepped his limits, given that I could be a possible suspect. Amazingly, he was trying to be protective, but it didn’t quite come out that way. It came out as very possessive when he had no reins on me. Not to mention, he more than implied I was a possible suspect. What did that say about his opinion of me?
Kim and I had a few good laughs at Wayne’s expense after he left. Zoe was our waitress again. After a teasing dig at Kim about steak sauce, she wanted to know who the good-looking man was. She also made it real clear that if I wasn’t interested, she sure was. Kim and I talked about Brett and where we might have dinner on Monday. She did her best to allay my concerns about a relationship with someone who lived about an hour or so away. That of course led to the continuing problem of not many choices other than Wayne for single men in Cold Creek.
We walked around Cold Creek center for a bit after dinner, and then we parted ways. On the way home, I thought again about the country club ladies and their private celebration of Adam’s life. I still found it hard to believe he was involved with those women. On the other hand, I didn’t know if their relationships with him were limited to recipes and dinners. It was going to be bad enough if Adam’s inappropriate behavior with even one student got out. It would rock the community and the administration if his involvement with these wives was more than culinary.
I watched some television and the news. Chief Pfeiffe was still hoping to solve the case, but no details were being shared. Chief Pfeiffe was dreaming. There still had been no indication of a murder weapon or actual time of death or assault. I still didn’t understand the reason for withholding information.
I redrew my relationship map, this time with many more circles. I started to put in negatives on all the women I now knew Adam was involved with, but something about the way Mrs. Cramer portrayed their party made me wonder if those women considered it a negative relationship. After all, unlike Ali, Kim, or even Rachel, they were not interested in a long term commitment. This seemed like a diversion to them. Hmmm. I decided I was getting more and more confused and called it a night.
Chapter 9
I slept late Sunday morning and Charlie was a bit impatient as a result. I decided to take her for a run at the park. Fall was definitely in the air and it felt good to be running. I realized with all the hubbub the past week, I never did get any exercise. Even the walk in the arboretum with Brett was only a quarter-mile. I smiled to myself when I thought about our walk. Charlie and I were not the only ones taking advantage of the weather. There were some others running, jogging, or walking as well.
After about a mile, I spotted a bench and sat down. I also got out water for both of us. I was sitting there when a woman sat next to me. She had on sweats like me except hers were a designer brand. She had a bandana on her head so it took me a while to recognize her. In fact I didn’t recognize her until she looked directly at me. She was the wife of the Chancellor, the only person who had been on the stage who responded emotionally at the memorial. I didn’t remember ever seeing her at the park before.
Charlie sat and looked at her. That prompted a discussion of Shelties and Charlie in particular. When she looked at me, my gut tensed though I couldn’t think why it would. I had an uncomfortable feelin
g about her and her sitting down with me. I wondered if she was another of the country club ladies.
Either way, it had to be coincidence that she had chosen to sit on the same bench as me. After all, my runs in the park tended to be when I could get them, not planned or regular. After we talked about Charlie and the weather, I decided to heed my gut, and finish my run. With a “have a good day”, Charlie and I jogged away. I didn’t look back, but it felt like I was being watched, the hair on the back of neck standing up. I kept talking to Charlie and did not dally all the way to the house. Only when I got home, did I dare to look behind me. Then I felt silly. Of course there was no one there.
After a shower, I fixed myself something that resembled a combination of lunch and breakfast as it was now approaching noon. I went into the living room and finished the task I had started earlier in the week. I boxed up all the rest of the stuff I didn’t need or want, and I put it all in the garage. In the process, I realized I did need a new chair or two if I ever was to have company and perhaps a new coffee table as well. That would mean a visit to furniture stores, and particularly Ikea.
Deciding furniture was not an immediate need, I moved on to the guest bedroom. The only time anyone had stayed in the guest bedroom was when my sister, Kaylie, came to visit. The last time had been in December. I dusted the tops of the dresser and the night stands, and I checked to make sure I had changed the sheets after she left. I had.
The easy part done, I opened the door to the closet. The boxes I had never unpacked were still stacked there. When I moved in, still hurt from my failed marriage, I had only unpacked the boxes that contained ‘my’ stuff as opposed to ‘our’ stuff. There had been shared things I’d opted to keep.
There was a part of me that realized that if I hadn’t used the stuff in these boxes for four years, I probably could toss the boxes without opening them. The sentimental side of me, however, knew there were some things in these boxes, photographs in particular, I might want to keep.
I was resigned to my task. I knew I needed to clear this out before I started a new relationship. I pulled down the first box. I pawed through the figurines, a quilt Derek’s mother had made us, and found some photo CDs. I put the quilt aside to get it cleaned. It was a star quilt in shades of blue and I’d always liked it. It would look nice in the living room or even on this bed. The figurines I put back in the box. The photo CDs I put aside to look at later and then decide to keep or discard.
I went through the same process for the next two boxes, with one or two things I had picked out for the house salvaged. I trashed the rest. I now had two more boxes of stuff that needed a new home and three less boxes in the closet.
After coming across my wedding album in the third box, I decided I had done enough for one day. I couldn’t even decide what to do with the album to tell the truth. Lots of my friends and family were in those photos. I had fond memories of the wedding. I truly had fond memories of the marriage, right up to the time I caught him in bed with the intern. Our bed, no less.
I went and sat in my now clean and organized living room and contemplated for about the hundredth time what had gone wrong with my marriage. This was not a new exercise, and each time, I usually concluded we probably both were at fault. This time, with knowledge that the intern he married after our divorce had found herself in my shoes, I decided perhaps more of the fault was his. Thinking about my ex’s wanderings, I realized I only knew about the intern. Maybe like Adam, he had diddled more than once in our 10 years of marriage.
Initially, I had assumed maybe it was because I hadn’t been able to conceive. But he and the intern hadn’t had children either. I also blamed myself for not being more adventurous in the bedroom, but I don’t know if the intern was any more so. No, in hindsight, it was probably neither of those reasons. He was who he was. Like Adam was who he was. I wondered if any of these women actually ‘knew’ Adam. I wondered if there was anything below the surface. Even Kim had never shared any insights about him.
Early evening, it was time to call my parents. I think my mother loved my ex more than I did. Our conversations usually turned to why couldn’t I work things out. This time when she brought him up, I shared with her that he was getting divorced again. He planned to marry a still younger woman. She didn’t have much to say after that.
Mostly she talked about her aches and pains and my father’s health issues. In their 60s, they were both retired and were pretty healthy. Somehow as they had aged, their health took on more importance even if it wasn’t poor. We chatted for about 10 minutes, and predictably, when I asked about what she was doing with her time, my mother decided it was time to hang up.
I smiled at the phone knowingly. My mother didn’t go out much and didn’t have a wide circle of friends. Her life was my father and it worried me that when he passed, she would be completely lost.
Charlie nudged my leg. I let her out and fed her. I fixed myself a salad and watched television for a while. Sunday was family phone call night, and the only way that worked was to call each other at the same time each week.
Promptly at 7 o’clock, Kaylie called. She shared the ups and downs of her job. She was in charge of public relations at a major conglomerate in New Jersey. Her job always sounded stressful, and usually the majority of our call was her venting, while I listened.
Eventually, she asked if anything was new at Cold Creek. I am sure she expected my usual negative response. This was the usual segue to her criticizing my choice of jobs and living in a small town. She often commented on how boring Cold Creek was, but she liked it fine when she needed to escape big business.
I visualized her sitting upright in surprise when I told her one of my colleagues had been murdered in the rec center. She was all excited, and wanted all the details. I told her what I knew and she teased that she hoped the police appreciated my help. That started another whole discussion.
Kaylie is about four years younger and also divorced. In her case, her ex contended she was unfaithful in the worst way. She cared more about her job than him. He was probably right. Her marriage lasted less time than mine, but a frequent complaint of us both was the lack of decent men who weren’t married or gay. She groaned when I shared with her the results of a study that indicated the likelihood of a woman in her 40s finding a soul mate was lower than the likelihood of the same woman being run over by a train. Not optimistic odds.
So I told her about Brett and our one dinner and plans for the second one. She wanted all the details. She wanted to know how tall was he, how old was he, and so on. Her questions made me realize I didn’t know much about this man other than that he had a good job. By his report he had a stable work history. He was divorced without much hostility or blaming. He had a 12-year-old daughter. Oh, and I knew he was one good kisser, but I didn’t share that part with Kaylie. A girl has to keep some things private.
I pointed out to her, and reminded myself, this might not go any further than a second dinner. As she pointed out, that would put me back with Wayne as the only option. In her own way, that was Kaylie telling me not to blow it. She asked what I was going to wear and suggested I try for something at least a little on the sexy side. I assured her I wasn’t going to end up with Wayne, I was saving him for her. We ended the conversation teasing each other and laughing. Always a good way to end a conversation.
I headed to the kitchen for a snack, and found some Girl Scout cookies. I was pouring myself a glass of milk to go with them, and the phone rang.
“Hey Kim, how are you doing?” I asked noting the caller ID.
“Doing good Sheridan, but I am starting to panic about tomorrow. I realized I will be teaching two to three sections every day! And that means so many more students to deal with!” After a slight pause but before I could respond, she asked, “Sorry to rant, Sheridan. How are you?”
I chuckled and offered, “I’m okay. I felt like I got as much done as I could before I left on Friday. I teach the same classes every day, and I never remember which class
is which or what I said when. You need to do what you can, and hey, you can decide which section to give to the new guy!”
She laughed and then asked how my sister and parents were. I relayed the highlights of both conversations, and asked how her mother was. Again telling her not to worry, I hung up.
As I got ready for bed, I realized I needed to figure out what I was going to wear for the first day, and for dinner. Kaylie’s comments aside, I couldn’t dress too sexy since I would likely be going from work to dinner. I went with a dress instead of the slacks and top I had been wearing all last week. It wasn’t quite a sundress, but more casual than dressy. It was not too low cut, but not exactly Victorian either. The dress was a medium blue and often when I wore it I was complimented on how it brought out the blue in my eyes. Being a brunette, the blue eyes were somewhat unusual. I had a light cardigan in case the AC in the building or restaurant was too high. Looking at my pedicure, I decided I would definitely go with sandals. Everything settled, I set the alarm and went to sleep.
Chapter 10
I fussed with my hair for what seemed like forever, and redid my makeup twice. Finally satisfied, I made it to campus, and was ready to teach my 8 o’clock class. Most of the faculty avoided the early classes as much as the students. I liked to get it over with and this section would be small due to the early hour.
On the way to my classroom, I grabbed a coffee at Georg’s as was my habit. Balancing all I now had to carry, I made it to the room without dropping anything. I arranged everything at the front of the classroom, got the computer and projector turned on, and pulled up my course online. Students continued to wander in and take seats. The last few to arrive ended up in the front row, a fitting natural consequence.
Murder at Cold Creek College Page 11