CHAPTER TWENTY
“Phone message for you, Katie,” Fran Garibaldi smiled as she stuck her head around Katie’s battered office door. She fumbled in the pocket of her dress, and frowned. “Damn, I had it right here…”
“Come in, Fran.” Katie beckoned to the woman.
The woman sifted through the large stack of folders she held in one arm. “I could’ve sworn I stuck it right in my pocket—”
“Well, that’s all right. Was it urgent?”
“No, but it was all the way from Ireland. I figured if it was important enough for someone to call you from across the Atlantic, at least I could bring it up to you. I knew you wouldn’t stop in the office again until you were ready to leave for the day.”
“Was it from my sister?”
“Oh, no. A gentleman. With the most delicious voice I’ve heard in a long time. Made this old maid’s heart melt.”
“About what time was it?”
“You were teaching your morning class, I guess, so about eleven?”
“Okay, thanks, Fran.” Katie smiled. “I know who it is. Thanks for telling me.”
“You’re quite welcome.” The woman turned to leave, pulling the door shut behind her.
“Wait, Fran,” Katie said, quickly. “Was there any message?”
“Gracious, how silly of me. Yes, he sounded quite excited. But all he said was…he’d found Kilmartin.” Fran hesitated. “Yes, that was it exactly. He found Kilmartin.” She smiled broadly. “I hope that’s a good thing?”
Katie grinned back with delight. She felt like leaping to her feet and hugging the woman. “Fran, I think that may be one of the best things I’ve heard in a long time.”
She waited until she heard the woman’s footsteps recede down the hall, then shut her door firmly. She dialed the long international number carefully, her finger shaking on the old-fashioned dial. When Patrick answered, she said eagerly, “You’ve found Kilmartin?”
“I can’t guarantee it yet. I’ve got a couple more things to check and see if I can get some corroboration. But I found a court order from September 1799, ordering a group of convicts to Australia. And next to the names—some of the names—are the initials WRK. I think it’s been assumed over the years that it stood for “work.” But it could also mean the—”
“Wild Rose of Kerry,” she finished.
“Exactly. And on the list, there’s a name T. Kilmartin. Timothy O’Riordan of Kilmartin, it could be. The fact is, since the ship disappeared without a trace, who would’ve known?”
“But what about the Earl, himself?”
“This is as close as anyone’s ever come to knowing for certain what happened to either one of the brothers. I’ve already got a hold on the Reynolds’s papers. I’m going over to check them tomorrow. I’ll tell you as soon as I know something.”
“What about the other names—Fitzgerald is Lord Edward, you think?”
“Most likely. He would’ve moved in the same circles as our chap. But it’s worth checking again. Although it was a man named Magan who ultimately informed on Fitzgerald, the connection seems obvious.”
“All right,” said Katie. “I have an outline of the paper all done—I’m going to E-mail that to you as soon as I get home. I have some reading to do, as well.”
“Good work, then,” said Patrick. “Listen, would you please call your sister? She’s very worried about you for some reason. I tell her she’s just jealous because at this point I’m talking to you more than I’m talking to her but she’s so embroiled in her work right now, she’s living at the library.”
“Sure,” Katie smiled. “When will she be home?”
“She’s got to come home by midnight. The library closes at eleven.”
“Well, how about if I call around then? Will I disturb you?”
“At this point, not hearing from you will be more disturbing.”
Katie hung up after reassuring him she would call. She knew she’d been neglecting her sister, and she hoped that a simple conversation would assure her that all was well. As well as it can be, she thought as a pang went through her. It wasn’t easy missing Derry.
Brooding, she gathered her things together and started out the door. The lock on the door caught her eye. The wood was splintered. She paused and looked at it more closely. It almost looked as though someone had tried to force the lock out of the ancient wood. It was old and worn, but looked relatively intact. The doorframe was obviously constructed out of hard wood.
Katie looked around. Had someone tried to break into her office? Was it possible that Alistair would stoop so low? She gazed around the tiny, dusty space. No, she thought, you’re being ridiculous, Katie. Next you’ll be seeing monsters under your bed. Well, why not? said the wry little voice of her conscience. You’ve already been seeing ghosts in the forest.
• • •
The telephone rang just before midnight. Katie leapt off the couch, her book tumbling to the floor. She grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
“Katie, is that you?”
“Hi, Meggie, of course it is. How are you? What time is it? It can’t be more than five-thirty in the morning over there. Why are you calling at this hour?”
“Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right—”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure—”
“I really mean it, Katie. Is there something you haven’t told me?”
“About what?”
“About anything. I’ve had a bad feeling about you for the past three days, and last night I had the worst dream. It was terrible—scared me absolutely to death. Are you sure you aren’t in any trouble?”
“I’m not in trouble at all, Meggie. What makes you think so?”
“I’ve just had a really bad feeling that something had happened to you, Katie. A really bad feeling. And then I had this dream just now-it woke me up in a cold sweat, and all I could think of was to call you and make sure you were okay.”
“Meggie, you’re scaring me. What exactly did you dream?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you. That’s the trouble with dreams—it was just a lot of running and bad feelings, and you being in terrible danger. I’ve been so busy these last couple of weeks, I know I haven’t been here when you’ve called, and I’ve been thinking about you so much—I guess I was just being silly. Hey, did Patrick tell you that things have heated up again with the Alistair Proser thing?”
“No.” Katie swung her legs over the side of the couch and rested her chin in her hand. “What’s going on?”
“The professor I told you about—he’s filed a formal complaint. He’s not letting this thing go. Your Mr. Alistair is going to have to come over here and answer some questions at an informal inquiry.”
“Really? No way.” Katie sat back, digesting the information.
“Oh, yes. It’s not a secret here at all. Everyone’s talking about it. You haven’t heard anything over there?”
“No—but Alistair isn’t on the faculty here. I guess his father has managed to keep any hint of it from getting around.”
“Listen, now that I think of it, you better be careful about letting this guy know what you’re up to. I hope you’re taking some precautions about his finding out. His reputation is already in question. If he finds out that you and Patrick are planning to publish a rival paper—one that’s almost definitely going to call his conclusions into question—he may not be so nice. He’ll try to use whatever influence he has with his father to get you dismissed. Have you thought about that?”
Katie plucked at a loose thread in her afghan. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve thought about it. He’s already accosted me. Threatened me, even.”
“Threatened you? With what? Did you go to his father?”
“No, are you kidding? I went to the Dean.” Quickly Katie outlined her conversation with Terry Callahan. “So I’ve let it be known that there’s a potential problem. I trust Terry will deal with it.”
&
nbsp; “In the meantime, I hope I can trust that you aren’t doing anything foolish or deliberately calling attention to all this.”
“Of course I’m not.”
“Good. ’Cause I’ve had a very bad feeling about you for the last three days. I don’t want you to get fired, or worse.”
“What would be worse than getting fired?”
“Bodily injury?”
“Oh, Meggie, don’t be so melodramatic.” Katie stared at the ceiling. “Although it did look as though maybe someone tried to force their way into my office—”
“Force their way into your office?” Meg shrieked. “Did you tell your friend the dean?”
“Well, no, not yet. I’ve been busy.”
“Are you living in a dream world?” Meg gave a loud sigh. “I want you to promise me you’ll call him first thing tomorrow, okay? Stop dreaming over there, Katie. This could be serious.”
I haven’t been dreaming, Katie wanted to say. I’ve been pining away after a ghost. She wondered, fleetingly, what Meg would say to that. But instead all she said was, “Please don’t worry, Meggie. I’ll call Terry first thing, I promise. Did Patrick get my E-mail?”
“I think so. Look, you take care, all right?”
After repeated reassurances, Katie finally got her sister off the phone. She sat for a long time thinking about the situation with Alistair. If it were indeed the case that a formal complaint had been filed with some sort of review body, Alistair might be a more serious threat than she’d initially imagined. The last thing he’d want is to have to answer to two challenges simultaneously. As she settled into bed, she caught a whiff of bay rum. Don’t miscount your sister’s warning. Alistair Proser could be a desperate man.
She turned on her side and switched off the light. “I’ll speak to Terry Callahan in the morning. I promise!” She thought she heard a soft chuckle as she drifted off to sleep.
• • •
True to her promise, she stopped by Terry Callahan’s office before she even went to her office the next morning. She found Terry looking over some letters with Doris. “Good morning, Terry.”
“Katie Coyle! Twice in a week!” the big man boomed. He gave her a measuring glance and gestured over his shoulder. “Go right in.” Katie had just sat down when Terry closed the door. “What’s up?”
“I’m not quite sure I even believe what I have to say. But it looked to me last night as though someone tried to break into my office.”
“Break into your office? What makes you think so?”
“The wood around the lock looked gouged. As though someone had tried to stick a screwdriver or a knife into the frame.”
Terry frowned, seemed about to speak, then hesitated. Finally he said, “You come with me.” He strode out of his office, heading for the outer door. “Just leave those letters on my desk, Doris. I’ll be back in a few.”
“Where are we going?” asked Katie as she hastened to keep up with his long stride.
“To your office, of course. I want to see this for myself. It’s not that I don’t believe you, Katie,” he continued as they pattered up the steps. “It’s that this is very serious. If anyone has tried to break into your office, we have to take precautions.” At the top of the steps, he paused. “Which one?”
“That one,” Katie pointed as she started down the corridor. She stopped. The door was open. Sunshine was pouring out the door and pooling on the floor of the corridor, something that could only happen if the door was open. “The door’s open.”
“And you didn’t leave it like that?”
She gestured with her bulging tote bag. “I haven’t even been up here this morning.”
He led her down the hall. Together they peered into the office. Papers and books were scattered everywhere, lying in haphazard heaps allover. The place was ransacked.
“Good God.” Terry’s face was grim. “All right, come with me. Don’t touch anything. Did you have anything valuable inside?”
“Not at all.” Katie shook her head slowly, feeling a chill run down her spine. “Notes for my classes. Reference books. Student essays.” Thank God she kept her materials for the paper at home.
“Come on. We’ll go down to Fran’s office and call the police. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Katie said, swallowing hard.
In the stairwell, he paused. “You know, Katie, that this could be difficult. I know what you told me the other day about Alistair Proser. But before you go making any accusations, we’re going to have be very careful. It’s not likely that a respected professor like Alistair is going to stoop to this. I think it’s a lot more likely it’s one of your own students. Or possibly just some frat-boy prank.”
Katie met his eyes. A fist seemed to close around her heart. Of course, she thought. She should have expected this. The old-boy ranks were going to close around Alistair. He might only be a visitor on campus, but his father had enough stature to ensure that he wasn’t going to be the most immediate suspect. And his own international reputation was going to protect him, too, for a while at least. Although maybe when word got out that a formal complaint had been filed in Ireland, his word wasn’t going to be sufficient. But that wasn’t likely to happen overnight, even if she mentioned it herself. And she did intend to mention it. Privately to Terry Callahan, at least. And, she thought, if it had been Alistair who’d broken into the office, he couldn’t have found any of her materials for the Clancy article. “Sure, Terry. I understand. I won’t say anything about Alistair.” Unless I’m asked if I’ve been threatened lately, she added silently.
“Good girl,” he nodded approvingly. “We just have to handle the matter delicately, you understand. We can’t go rushing off half-cocked, making up accusations that won’t hold water. Know what I mean?”
Sure I do, she thought. Silently she followed him down the stairs to the main office of the English Department, where Fran sat frowning at a computer screen while she typed with frightening speed on the keyboard. As they entered, she looked completely surprised to see Terry. “Dean Callahan!” She paused in her typing, looking even more mystified to see Katie standing beside him. “What can I do for you this morning?”
“Is Reg in?”
“No, not yet. He never comes in till one today. Is there something I can help you with?”
“This young lady’s office was broken into last night. Books, papers, everything, all scattered around. You can call campus security.”
“Oh, my dear!” Fran got to her feet. “Are you all right? Is anything missing?”
“We didn’t look,” Terry answered. “Best not to touch anything until the police arrive.”
“Well, come leave your things in Dr. Proser’s office,” said Fran. She put an arm around Katie and clucked sympathetically. “What a terrible thing!”
• • •
The morning passed in a blur. After class, Katie was summoned to her office, while a two-man team of police went over the entire office thoroughly. After they’d left, she went with Terry Callahan to his office, where a man dressed in street clothes waited to interview her.
They went into Terry’s office and shut the door. “I’m Sergeant Murdoch. You’re Dean Callahan? And Dr. Katherine Coyle?”
Katie nodded.
After taking her address and checking the spelling of her name, he closed his notebook and put it in the pocket of his glen-plaid blazer. “Did you notice that anything was missing, Dr. Coyle?”
“No,” answered Katie. “There really wasn’t anything of value in the office. But I haven’t had a chance to check.”
“It was mostly student essays, books, notes—things of that nature?”
“Yes,” said Katie. “Nothing really valuable.”
“Any of your students athletes, Dr. Coyle?”
Katie blinked, taken off guard by the unexpected question. “A few.”
“How are they doing?”
Katie shrugged, trying to remember. “Well, like a lot of students who have to try and b
alance a demanding academic schedule with a demanding practice and game schedule, it can be tough.”
The two men exchanged glances. “Any in danger of failing?” Sergeant Murdoch asked.
Katie glanced from the sergeant to Terry Callahan. It was very obvious where this was going. They were going to try and say that the break-in was the result of students. “No,” she replied quietly, refusing to play along. “None are doing any worse than a C.”
“I see. Can you think of any reason—other than a prank, or to change a grade—anyone would try and break into your office?”
Katie hesitated. “Only if they were looking for something.”
“And what do you suppose they could be looking for?”
Katie glanced at Terry. She was tempted to tell the sergeant about Alistair’s threats, about the rival paper, and her research, but suddenly she didn’t feel as though she could trust Callahan. He might be more favorably inclined toward her since he’d hired her, but it would take a tremendous amount to move him to do anything that would overtly anger Proser. She sighed. Academic politics. “I can’t really think of anything. Maybe money, maybe a grade.”
The sergeant looked at Callahan, who shrugged. “We’re having the lock of Katie’s door replaced this afternoon. She’ll have a chance to go in tomorrow and make sure there’s nothing missing. In the meantime…”
“If you think of anything, Dr. Coyle, please give me a call.” He fished inside the pocket of his blazer, and pulled out a card. “Here. You can reach me with that beeper number. Give me a call any time.”
“Thanks, Tom.” Terry got to his feet. “Katie here was a little shaken by the whole experience. I wanted her to feel comfortable that we were doing everything to discover why this was done.”
But not who did it, Katie thought. Murdoch rose as well, just as there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” called Callahan.
Doris peered around the door. “There’s a long-distance call from Ireland for Miss Coyle.”
“Oh,” said Katie. “Tell the person I’ll call her back.”
“It’s a man,” Doris said with a faint air of disapproval. “A Mr. Ryan.”
The Ghost and Katie Coyle Page 19