by Liz Bradbury
I thought back. “Well, no, she just made a dismissive sound and waved me off. Amanda Knightbridge was there. She spoke to her.”
“Oh, well, Amanda,” said Paul knowingly. “What did she say to Amanda?”
“Something about researching 16th century building materials.”
“Really? Huh.” Paul shrugged moving back toward the pizza.“Maybe I should try to talk to her sometime.”
Kathryn was looking at me thoughtfully. She said, “Are you sure this wasn’t a dream?”
“No, no, it wasn’t a dream. Do these people really think she’s a ghost?”
Kathryn raised her eyebrows.
“But I saw her.”
“On campus it’s the people who haven’t seen her who don’t believe in her,” said Kathryn.
“Do you believe in her?”
Kathryn leaned into me. “I didn’t until tonight,” she whispered. “Maggie, you better get some pizza before it’s all gone.”
Another committee member came in from outside, reeking of tobacco smoke.
“Maggie Gale,” said Kathryn in introduction, “this is Carla Zimmer. Carla’s in the Architectural Design Department. She was Rowlina Roth-Holtzman’s grad assistant, but she’s just been hired into the Department.”
I covertly eyed Carla. She wasn’t unfortunate in appearance. Dark hair pulled back, even-toned skin, dark eyes. Hard to tell about her figure; she was wearing one of those long bulky sweaters. I noticed she was eyeing me back at the same time as I checked her out. She turned abruptly in the guise of grabbing a soda. Kinda of twitchy for a person who’d managed to score a job in this desperate economy.
“It is Rowlina Roth now. She has dropped the Holtzman,” Carla Zimmer said with her head turned.
Kathryn and I went for the last slices and settled at the big round table to concentrate on fine dining.
Paul Ericson turned to me. “I’ve heard you and Kathryn are in quite a whirlwind romance? Is this leading to something serious?”
A silence fell over the table, until Kathryn sighed with amusement. “Really, Paul.” Then she turned to me and said, “Paul has a college-wide reputation for being direct.”
“Was that rude? I’m sorry,” said Paul.
He seemed to genuinely want to know, but not in a gossipy way. I guessed he was Kathryn’s campus version of my friend Farrel and my sister Sara, who’d each grilled Kathryn in their own ways to discover whether her intentions with me were honorable. Though they hadn’t done it so publicly.
“To answer your questions, yes, yes, and no it wasn’t rude,” I said.
The tension eased. Kathryn smiled, looking down at the table. Dan Cohen, who had told me a while ago that he was a PFLAG dad, grinned broadly, and Bolton clapped once and said, “Great!”
Most of the others in the room looked up when they heard Bolton clap and smiled.
Only Carla Zimmer reacted with discomfort. She tried to cover her nervous expression by turning and coughing but I saw her wrinkled nose and deer-in-the-headlights eyes.
“I know you’re all engaged in an important discussion, so I’ll let you get back to work,” I said. “Please don’t keep Kathryn any later than...”
“No Maggie, don’t rush off,” said Bolton. We need your input on something we were talking about before the meeting. I was explaining to Paul how important it is to be out.”
“Well, I just wondered why Gay people would choose to be out, if that meant they might experience discrimination.”
“Are you married, Paul?” I asked.
“Yes, I am. I have the honor to be married to a wonderful person. I think you met Caren at the holiday party at the president’s mansion.”
“Oh, yes, I remember. She’d just done some major work reorganizing the doctoral program in Art History, right? What’s she doing now?”
“Yes, it was a big job, and now she’s getting ready to go on a tour with some grad students to Italy. Then she’ll go on to France for a conference in...”
I was looking at him, smiling. He halted abruptly. “Oh... oh, I see!” He sat back in his chair with a look of complete comprehension.
“So, Paul, just to be sure you really understand this...” Kathryn said.
“Yes, I get it. It would be impossible for me to not talk about Caren. I’m proud of her; I love her. If I had to pretend she didn’t exist... Yeah, I see. It would eat at me every day,” he said. “OK, so then, do you think it’s wrong to be in the closet? Is there any excuse?”
“People should keep their personal business to themselves. What people do in the bedroom has nothing to do with their lives,” said Carla Zimmer with surprising sharpness. I couldn’t help remembering that her boss Rowlina Roth, formally Rowlina Roth-Holtzman, had actually broken federal law to marry Holtzman in her own vain attempt to disguise her sexual orientation. Mr. Holtzman had failed at his beard job though. Among other flaws, he lived 3000 miles from Fenchester.
I nodded and said, “What people do in the bedroom isn’t really the issue though is it? Civil rights is the issue. And sure, there are situations that make sense for people to remain closeted. People in the seventy-eight countries that still criminalize sexual behavior, people who were in the military under Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, parents going through tough custody battles in conservative jurisdictions, high school students whose parents would throw them out of the house if they found out...”
“I have kind of a hard time understanding why someone teaching at a liberal arts college like Irwin would hide. This college has full protections and even gives domestic partner benefits. Someone in the closet here, well, that would have to be an internal issue,” said Bolton, shaking his head.
“You’ve always been out?” asked Paul.
“Even fifteen years ago, before I was tenured,” said Bolton.
Paul turned to me and Kathryn. “And you?”
“Yes,” we said in unison.
I went on, “But that’s not to say... People have to come out when they’re ready. It’s a personal choice. I just hope people know that being in the closet actually makes you far more vulnerable.”
“And why do you think that?” asked Carla.
“Because most people talk about their personal lives all the time. People who don’t are suspect and vulnerable. So all some bully has to do is ask them if they’re Gay,” I explained gently.
“One could simply say, That is none of your business,” insisted Carla.
“But the problem with that is...” I turned to Paul and asked, “Are you Gay?”
Paul shrugged and said, “No.”
I went on, “See, ninety-nine times out of 100 a straight person would never say It’s none of your business. So a person who does say that is probably Gay. The only other alternative for a Gay person is to lie, which Paul has just demonstrated would be demoralizing.”
“You know,” said Bolton, “bullies don’t pick on people because they’re Gay. They pick on them because they’re vulnerable.”
“No one is more vulnerable than someone who’s living a lie,” said Kathryn.
“So, so, you hate all people who are in the closet!” Carla said with a faint German accent, as she teetered on the transparent edges of panic.
The rest of the people clammed up in response to Carla’s obtuse interpretation of the conversation.
Finally Bolton said, “Being in the closet calls for support not hatred. But I’m not wild about people in the closet who use their positions of power to spew anti-Gay rhetoric. All those far right preachers and legislators who vote against LGBT rights and then get caught with rent boys on vacation.”
“Or in airport restrooms,” laughed Paul. “OK, I know we have to get back to work, but one more thing...”
The pizza was gone, but these academics would stretch this topic into tomorrow if I didn’t get out of the mix. I stood and said, “I’ll let you all get back to work. Thanks for letting me join in the supper and lively conversation.”
“I’ll walk you o
ut,” said Kathryn, grabbing her coat.
On the way down the steps I said, “I kind of got you all off track there...”
“Maggie, an activist once told me that anytime you have a chance to explain discrimination to straight people, you have to take it. Most people don’t even know there’s no federal law or Pennsylvania law that bans employment or housing discrimination based on sexual orientation. I’m a teacher, and when the opportunity arises, I teach, and I’m happy to welcome guest speakers,” said Kathryn, stopping at the bottom of the stairs.”
“I’d really have a hard time if you wanted us to pretend you slept in the guest-room!” I laughed.
“To be honest, Maggie, I’m not wildly personal with my students. It’s not my nature. But I’m proud to say that I’ve never shied from standing up for their rights and that’s far easier to do out of the closet than in. Of course everyone has to come out on their own schedule. But here at Irwin? Good grief, we just went to full gender-neutral housing. This is a progressive institution. It’s one of the reasons I choose to work here.”
I smiled. This was one of the many things I loved about Kathryn, that her Lesbian identity is important to her and that she’s passionate about civil rights.
“So what’s the deal with Carla Zimmer? I mean, project much?”
“I know. She’s always like that. Maybe she’s in love with Rowlina Roth. Did you hear how her voice picked up a hint of Rowlina’s accent when she got emotional? Perhaps Rowlina only hires people into the Architecture History Department who are deeply in the closet so she can continue to be comfortable in her own dark little walk-in. I wish there was something I could do to help her.”
“It’s a shame. It’s all making her so unhappy and Carla’s getting caught in the current. So, Bolton Winpenny is the steel drummer?” I said, considering.
Kathryn nodded. “Oh, here’s a revelation. Remember when I told you it was Bolton’s idea to end the retreat when that woman in the department became hysterical?
“Professor Panic Attack?”
“Right. Well, it turns out that Bolton put her up to it. It was all an act so that Bolton could suggest we end the meeting and go home. Rather brilliant, really.” Kathryn pulled her coat tighter and faced me.
I put my arms around her and we kissed. It made me hear music.
“Thanks for the pizza, but I’m still hungry.”
“For more dinner?”
“Not that kind of hunger.”
“I’ll try to make them hurry so I can get back soon.”
“Fat chance of that.”
We parted reluctantly. She turned back into the building and I trudged off into the dark cold night to stop back at the library and retrieve the bag of sculpture, then head home.
Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow I chanted to the musical steel drum beat that looped through my brain.
Chapter 11
When I got to the loft I dropped off the sculpture, which I’d been carting around all day. It was going to be a while before Kathryn would be released from academic purgatory, so I went down to my office to work on identifying the young man who was killed in the cemetery.
I checked my electronic calendar and found that Nora had made an entry with a note below it that said:
Tomorrow, about 8 in the morning, Mrs Henshaw wants a wee talk with you. Her number is below. -- Your faithful minion, Miss Lenderbee
I smiled and made a note of it, while I silently wondered if Kathryn would come home in time to make me too tired for an 8 a.m., or if she’d come home so late we’d both be too sleepy for an evening assignation.
I sat at my desk in the empty office and booted up my desktop computer that has enough gigs to store the collective pasts of everyone in Fenchester.
Identification is one of those investigation jobs that has become much easier with each new generation of electronic apps. One of them is the excellent recognition feature that’s part of my photo storage program. It matches faces.
When I interned for Seamus A. McFinn Jr. at Discreet Investigations, I hit upon the rather brilliant idea of scanning a decade’s worth of every high school year book in the valley. It was an interesting project that I was able to do mostly online at a relatively low cost.
There are two high schools in Fenchester, Carlton Fen and General Merganser Hunterdon High. And there are a couple of dozen other high schools in other towns and small cities in Lenape Valley as well. I’d downloaded every senior picture. The matching program scans a face on one photo and matches it with another. The program could make mistakes and be confused, but all in all it worked rather well. I was the only one in town that had this kind of resource.
If the man killed in the cemetery had been a senior in any of the local high schools in the last few years, there was more than an eighty percent chance I could come up with a match. Of course he may not have been local or he may dropped out before his senior year... or he may have been absent on Senior Picture Day, but it was worth a try.
I downloaded the photo of the shooting victim into my desktop and ran it. Thirty-two similar photos came up. I went through them one by one, taking out the ones that really didn’t match, and came up with six possibles. Then I ran the names though a variety of other searches. I ruled out three more. Of those, one now worked in a senator’s office, one was a local firefighter and looked different in current photos, and one had died in Iraq.
The three photos left were of Anthony Rossi, Francis Kibbey, and John M. Williams. Rossi and Kibbey had gone to Hunterdon High and Williams had gone to Fen. I printed them and put them in an envelope. Their names were pretty popular so they were going to be harder to track down. I’d work on them tomorrow.
I closed up the office and went back to the loft. I changed clothes and went up to the top floor for a workout that would either take my lust-laden mind off Kathryn or greatly increase my preoccupation with her. It did both. Finally I ran two miles on the treadmill full tilt until my mind began to focus on what I was going to say to Lois Henshaw the next morning. I was leaning toward the direct approach.
By the time I was done with the workout I was sweating and tired and sorely hoping I’d find Kathryn slipping into her nightgown downstairs so I could slip her out of it.
But Kathryn still wasn’t home. So I did some laundry and housecleaning. By midnight I was still alone and the worse for it. So I went to bed to read more of Fenchester — A History of Love, Loss, and Generosity by Gabriel and Suzanne Carbondale in case I met up with Amanda Knightbridge again and she quizzed me on it. It really was fascinating, though it didn’t have as much about Victoria and Evangeline as I would have liked. I read carefully for an hour and then let myself drift off to sleep with the light on, until my phone chirped with a text.
It said, < Alas. Just to my budget now. Go to sleep. Profoundly sorry. >
Crap, I was profoundly sorry too.
The phone chirped again with another text that said simply, < Friday >
That cheered me.
Hours later I vaguely heard the door chime Kathryn in. Moments after that I felt her body, still chilled from the February night, slip next to mine. I put my arm around her and felt her relax into me.
She sighed, “It’s nice to come home to you.” And then we both fell asleep.
In what seemed like ten minutes later, I felt her leave the bed. The pale rays of winter dawn fought their way through the window. I turned when she came out of the bathroom dressed for the day. She knelt by the bed to put her arms around me.
“Come back to bed,” I whispered in her ear.
“Do you really want me to?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you want me to see Victoria’s journal?”
“Yes, but can’t you Skype or clone yourself or some other high tech thing?” I groaned.
“Um...”
“I’ll get up and have breakfast with you.”
“I don’t have time. I have a meeting in less than two hours, and if I don’t see this journal this
morning, I may self-combust.”
“Ha! OK, you can go, but when will you be back?”
“At 5 p.m. I’ll be back to help the drywall crew. Farrel said they could all work until ten. That’s not too late. Ten? And you know, Friday isn’t that far away.”
“Mmmmm, OK.”
She kissed me goodbye. I got up to dress and have breakfast before beginning my one-floor trek to the office.
*******
Nora wasn’t due to come in until 9 a.m. Sara and Emma would come in about then if they didn’t have a hearing or other off-site meetings. I had about an hour to get a few things done before office distractions slowed me down. I called Lois Henshaw and she answered before the first ring was through.
“Maggie, sorry to make ya call so early, but I’m the type who’s up to catch the worm,” she said distractedly. “I have more worms than I know what to do with.” Then she laughed longer than there was anything to laugh about, then stopped without anything else to say.
“Lois, look, I read the reports. I know what you want me to do, but I can’t figure anything out by retracing the other P.I.s’ dead-end paths. So I have a suggestion that you’re probably not going to like.”
“What?” she asked warily.
“I’d like to just have a talk with Samson and ask him what’s up. Maybe he’ll tell me. Maybe he even wants you to know and he just doesn’t have a way to tell you.”
“Just ask him?”
“Yeah, that’s my proposal. If you aren’t interested I’ll just give you your money back, because it’s a waste for you to hire me or any other investigator just to do the same thing again. That would be throwing your money down the toilet.”
“Gosh darn. Oh, gosh darn it. But what if he....”
“But what if I actually find the answer to his behavior?”