by Judith Mehl
Puzzled, she waited. Before she could learn much, Detective Burrows arrived. Upon seeing her, he threw up his hands and erroneously assumed she was involved. A half-hour later Kat was able to leave, finally having convinced him of her innocence. She fled with Nick back to the office, where they attempted damage control.
It helped that Detective Burrows had agreed to give a statement to the media if asked, claiming the attack appeared to have no connection to the previous murder. He felt the situations and methods were entirely different, and this victim had been left alive. It appeared the attacker could have killed her if he’d wished, since she was lying in a deserted area unconscious for a while before anyone came along.
Kat and Nick stopped at the hospital on the way home, partially as representatives of the university, and partially out of curiosity. Neither was convinced the attack had nothing to do with Professor Abbott. Both were hoping Suzanne had recovered enough to talk. Burrows had a man waiting in the hospital to get a statement, but they felt an urgency to know as soon as possible themselves.
It was late evening as they arrived and the hospital corridors echoed with farewells of visitors departing for the night. Nick showed the nurse his credentials. The sprightly woman ushered them to Susanne’s door.
“She has regained consciousness and is giving a statement to the officer. She can talk with you for a few minutes when finished if she’s not too tired.”
They were able to catch most of the statement to the officer as they waited in the doorway, but the information was sketchy. Dazed as Suzanne still was, she was firm in her conviction that she’d seen no one and had no idea why she would be attacked. The assailant had even left her purse by her side.
Though exhausted, she was delighted to see them. She had no family but was concerned about her students. Kat introduced Nick and they quickly reassured her that the students would be notified and a substitute found for the interim.
She flopped her right hand helplessly, notably distressed. “I had my notebooks with me. Are they here?”
Kat checked the bedside table while Nick walked to the closet. Attempting optimism, he bantered lightly about the students but stopped abruptly as he peered into the tiny metal closet in the corner.
“What? What’s the matter? Are my things missing? Is my purse there?” Suzanne whispered.
Nick recovered quickly, reached for her purse and notebooks from the top shelf and handed them to her. “It looks like everything is here. Why don’t you check?”
Relieved, Suzanne rummaged through her purse awkwardly with her one hand, and missed the frantic eye signals between Kat and Nick. A notebook fell open and Kat gathered the loose papers from within, noting that Suzanne’s pen strokes revealed a determined but emotionally sympathetic person. Kat knew her to be dedicated to helping others.
While Kat casually walked back to the closet to close the door she peeked inside. Suzanne’s dress and coat hung skewed on hangars, with a few things tucked in a bag on the floor. A scarf hung over the coat. Puzzled at first, she took another glance at the familiar looking coat. It was almost identical in color and style to the favorite gray wool coat that Kat was wearing herself.
“Were you wearing the scarf over your hair?” Kat asked and casually walked back to the bed.
Suzanne nodded as she closed her purse and exclaimed, “Everything’s here.”
While Suzanne was preoccupied with her purse, Nick surreptitiously studied her features. At first glance there was a similarity to Kat. Her build and hairstyle certainly matched. Her hair was lighter blond than Kat’s and her Slavic ancestry contributed high cheekbones and a sculpted jaw that held little resemblance to Kat’s softly flowing facial features. In the dark, could someone have mistaken her for Kat? But then, why would someone want to attack Kat? She seemed well-loved on campus.
Kat asked Suzanne what else she could do besides take care of her upcoming classes. The quickly tiring woman said she’d call a friend in the morning to bring clean clothes and the necessities. The doctor’s felt she’d be able to leave the following day if everything went well.
Her woozy look and the nurse bustling into the room prompted goodbyes. Nick reassured Suzanne not to worry. It was more than likely the attacker thought she was someone else, possibly carrying something valuable, and broke her arm in anger.
Despite their best efforts at containment, rumors spread rapidly the next day. Most revolved around the fear that there was a vendetta against science professors on campus. When he wasn’t working to dispel the rumors, Nick harbored a fear that there was something to the similarity in appearance between Suzanne and Kat. Was she somehow involved? Was she in danger? Had she seen something the night of the murder?
Chapter 12
Many traits show caution: vertical writing, closed ovals, accentuated punctuation, but are they signs of a cautious killer, or a worried innocent?
Katharine Everitt
“Wasn’t this a great idea?”
Apartment hunting for Nick at the crack of dawn didn’t rate with Kat in the “great” category. She silently stretched to unlock kinks in her back and wrapped her jacket more securely around her. October’s nip definitely ruled the morning. On the other hand, she was pleased to bring Nick to meet her friends as long as the first couple of apartments were near Albright. He easily followed Kat’s direction to the Albright Store. They came upon the crossroads with small signs announcing “Albright—A Community with A Future” and Kiwanis meets Wensdays.” Right at the intersection stood the Albright Store, where it had been since 1922. The gas pumps were long gone, but the post office was still there, as were six houses and a former feed store. Albright was born in the potential of a spur of the Delaware, Lackawanna and Western Railroad, but not a foot of rail, much less the Phoebe Snow, ever paid a call.
Nick studied the post office within the store, which had fifteen boxes, and, in the space most supermarkets claim for just the checkout counters, all the provisions that the local residents required. All other provisions were a minimum of 15 miles in any direction.
There was only one checkout counter in the front, and no shopping carts. Bins of fresh fruits and vegetables lined the aisles and advice was dispensed freely with health food products.
The Wynns sold more Pennsylvania lottery tickets and milk than anything else, but had gained a faithful clientele for the hard-to-find specialty items like arugula and peperoncini. The store had a superior meat counter, and Jerry, Connie’s husband of 15 years, was an intelligent butcher. He cut the best grades to order and wrapped them in a light brown paper—the way he had done in Brooklyn, when he bore an Italian name and before he was a sensational witness in an extortion trial that momentarily put a dent in police corruption.
Kat looked into the deep-set dark eyes of Jerry Wynn. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, sure, okay.”
It was about all Kat would have expected from Jerry, who probably missed the old neighborhood, but not the threat of leaving his store one night and having an accident. The trial dragged on for months, and eventually there were three convictions. But the trio that went up river for too-short terms had long since been paroled and made no bones about the fact that if they ever saw Jerry or Connie again, traffic citations would be the least of the couple’s problems.
Jerry trudged west on his own, hoping to hide his family in some obscure village. This wasn’t too far from that, but Kat’s dad had discovered his plight and helped him change his name and bury his background in the relative obscurity of these Pennsylvania backwoods.
“Connie, Jerry, meet Nick.” she quickly made the introduction, knowing that the couple still was shy with strangers. But after just a few minutes, Jerry, in his blood spattered apron, and Nick, in his finely creased chinos, chatted like buddies about hunters and the drought, while Kat picked out toasted almond sweet rolls under the critical eye of Connie, and ordered coffee, despite the woman’s dire warnings of imminent disease.
Nick graciously paid and
carried the bag while Kat picked up the steaming coffee.
In moments, the little car was cheerfully roaring south along the unmarked road. Kat quickly explained away the charitable relationship between her family and theirs. She’d grown up in situations like that, her dad at the forefront of “duty beyond the call,” and she didn’t realize how special that made her look to Nick.
Meanwhile, while he studied the road, she peeked at Nick’s profile, the aquiline nose and square jaw. The endearing cleft in his chin assured she’d be running her fingers through his hair before long, but for now, she stuck with what she considered light conversation.
She’d attempted coercion on Nick about viewing Charlie’s apartment. He wouldn’t hear of it. A quick conversation with Richard had revealed the man lived as austerely at home as he did at work. A thorough search brought no signs of another life, barely any life, away from work. There were also no clues as to why anyone would want Charlie dead. There was no journal either. She had to back off and hope the investigators hadn’t missed anything.
Kat turned down every apartment so far that Nick had circled in the ads, using excuses like too rickety, leaky plumbing, no view, bad vibes. Even so, they drove along in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the breeze and the wispy clouds. Kat’s mind wouldn’t settle on anything in particular, hoping to accept the day at face value and not as a prelude to anything personal with Nick, not yet anyway. Her strong feeling already seemed out of hand for such a short relationship.
Eventually Nick interrupted her thoughts, “Here’s the deal. I’m going to feed you before you get nasty, and when you’re replete we’ll discuss what it is I’m looking for before we check out the next place. It’s the last on the list. I’m desperate.”
He swiftly maneuvered the low-slung car into an open parking spot at the family-style diner offering all-you-can-eat lunch buffets. It sported not only down-home food but the warmth of home and the trust engendered by coat pegs by the door. Nearby, one could find souvenirs, fudge, and a chance to pet the animals for “just one quarter.”
He spoke with passion and wisdom of a time when escape became unnecessary as faculty showed him other answers and freed him to leave for more noble reasons. He’d returned as much as he could over the years, to renew relationships and refresh his beliefs. Ludlow was one of those who’d whetted his appetite for world knowledge. “He did so much for me. I owed him. Taking this job was just one small way I could thank him. He doesn’t know I left the hospital early to come here.”
She listened intently. She cherished his confidences and appreciated the insight they provided. Everything she learned about him provoked admiration. Was it more than admiration? She was afraid to confront that too soon. As much as he’d revealed of his inner self, his beliefs, he hadn’t tied his dreams to her. Maybe his introspection stemmed from their relationship, but since he wasn’t clear, she couldn’t be either.
Before she could frame a comment, he laughed and encouraged her to lighten the mood. They embarked on the first of many debates regarding the finer aspects of country cuisine. He felt gravy was essential. She touted chocolate as one of the four major food groups. He loved spices hot enough to make a throat bleed; she extolled a gentle blend of fresh herbs.
“You had me worried there for a minute with your thesis on chocolate. I wondered what happened to the vinegar lady.”
“Oh, you mean the morning-after tea.”
“Morning-after. That sounds kinky. Was I too sick to remember the good parts?”
“Morning-after, as in after you got drenched. And I see you had no further signs of a cold.”
“Good point. Drink your hot chocolate while I take my foot out of my mouth. Tell me how you’re dealing with this murder investigation. I’ve felt separated from it recently because of the other demands.”
“I thought Burrows was giving you constant updates?”
“True. But I meant you, Kat. How are you handling it personally?”
She twirled the mug around slowly in the palms of her hands as she pondered the question. “I know it looks like I enjoy working this investigation like one would a picture puzzle but it’s the only way I can keep going sometimes. Since I first attended this university I’ve connected on many levels, with the area, with fellow students, with professors, with the heritage. Now, one of our professors has been killed. I can’t just let that breeze by. Professors I know are under suspicion, those I like immensely, as well as others. I have to help.”
He nodded in understanding. “Remember, whatever I can do for you I will. Just ask. We are keeping in touch with the police constantly and will continue to assist officially in the investigation as they seek our help. I know it almost seems selfish but I am enjoying our day off, so to speak. We’d better be on our way soon, though. It’s looking gloomy out there.
The clouds scrunched up against the blue sky like the frowning eyebrows of Zeus and she knew retribution would be coming imminently if they didn’t finish their apartment search soon. They scrambled out to cover the convertible, quickly unsnapping the top and stretching it forward.
The threatening rain reminded Kat of the night of the murder. So much had happened so quickly. She felt like she was moving in a time warp. Here she was, having a relatively lighthearted and friendly time with Nick, while Charlie was barely cold in his grave. And worse, there appeared no signs of a coming arrest.
The dark and close stillness outside mirrored her inside dread. There wasn’t a strong feeling in the forefront, just a welling of concern and uncertainty. Why couldn’t she do more to help find the murderer, or at least comprehend why Charlie was murdered? In the past she’d assisted the police in their investigations, a holdover from her father’s police days and her natural inquisitiveness. But now, when the murder was on her own turf she literally had no clue. And felt bereft. Why, when she knew the people involved, was she no help?
Had her mind been too embroiled in her new relationship with Nick? And why was he spending so much time with her? Was it just natural because she was his only contact in the field so to speak? Could he possibly be personally interested?
Or worse, could he be involved in the murder? He was missing at the crucial time of the murder, after all. President Ludlow said he couldn’t find him when he looked. Had Nick really been delayed in the rain? But if he was involved, what was his motive? Too bad Ludlow wasn’t around to answer some questions. Convenient for Nick though. The starting rain returned her thoughts abruptly back to the more innocent hunt for an apartment. Besides, she had to trust someone. Hopefully her faith in Nick was not unduly prompted by her interest in him personally. But first chance she got, she’d check out his handwriting again, looking for closed ovals and faulty punctuation.
Chapter 13
A moderately wide lower loop on the lower case letters, balanced with moderate length can indicate a self-confident person with healthy, normal, physical drive.
“The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Handwriting Analysis” by Sheila Lowe
The last apartment proved easy to find and closer to work. Located on a country road just off the main highway it would take him to work in less than 15 minutes. Those were strong points in her mind. He liked that it was set back from the road and was the second floor of a house rather than an apartment complex. It came with his own section of back yard. The widow renting it seemed capable and friendly. He found it appealing and thought it would make a great bachelor pad-to-be.
She saw a steep flight of stairs; he saw airy ambiance. She saw a weedy back yard from the upstairs windows; he saw the great view. She saw the scratched bare floors; he saw the beautiful grain of the old wood that would glow with elbow grease and a sleek coat of polish. She saw small rooms; he saw nooks and crannies with surprises at every turn.
He stepped back and smiled at her.
She grinned and said, “OK, I’ve played devil’s advocate enough. You like it. It’s all you say it is. Go for it.”
He quickly decided to
rent the place for six months, unsure if he’d be working at the university longer than that.
It poured while they measured and planned.
Kat used the time to casually educate Nick about handwriting analysis. She likened it to fingerprinting but he wanted more detailed information.
She explained, “Our handwriting reveals our inner selves. Or it’s a projection of personality. How we write reveals our potential at the time we write.”
She jiggled the tape measure into place as he stretched out the other end, and continued, “Careful study is required of hundreds of traits, but some characteristics stand out like a zebra in a lion’s den. Showing a particular trait increases the risk that someone will act on it but not the certainty.”
Nick snapped the tape measure closed and straightened up. “So you don’t really pinpoint killers with it, just those with potential that need closer study?”
“Right! Handwriting analysis is a diagnostic tool of value in personal selection, marriage counseling, crime detection, vocational guidance, or business compatibility.”
“Just so long as you don’t try to capture killers by yourself, I’m impressed. Keep me informed.” Nick surveyed the living room one last time and smiled.
They gathered their few belongings and headed out. Icy rain soaked them through when leaving the apartment. Grateful for her hefty Flycoach shoes and resultant dry feet, she laughingly raced him to his car, teasing that it wouldn’t start. He threatened dire consequences if she jinxed his dear little Healy. He treated it like a Corvette, and she was impressed that his love didn’t require one. The car started instantly and Nick drove her home. Kat invited him in to get dry and have cocoa.
She removed her wet sweatshirt, tested the T-shirt underneath for dampness, and motioned to Nick and his soaked shirt. “You want me to throw that in the dryer with mine?”