by S. G. Wong
“Superb,” continued Lola smoothly. “I’d just like to take a look over these and make my notes. But before that, I’d like to ask you some questions, if I may, dean?”
“Yes, of course.” The older woman beamed.
“Were you by any chance here when Ms. Stoudamire was attending?”
Fitzsimmons nodded. “She was quite the bright young lady. I actually interviewed her before she began.”
“Do you happen to recall her areas of study?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t know that. But I do recall she made a strong impression with two of our faculty members. Dr. Sarah Yip and Dr. Felicity Yuen.”
“Are they still on staff here?”
A nod. “Dr. Yuen is. She’s the Chair of Spectral Studies. Dr. Yip left us once she wed. Her husband’s job required a move to Northern China.” A thoughtful pause. “Her name is now Mrs. Smith, I believe.”
“Do you happen to have Dr. Yuen’s schedule handy? I’d love the chance to speak with her while I’m here.”
“Yes, just a moment.” Fitzsimmons got up and went to the door. She cracked it open and spoke to her secretary. “Candy, would you get me Dr. Yeun’s schedule for today, please?” The sound of papers being flapped, then: “Thanks, dear.” Fitzsimmons read as she returned to her guest. “Yes, here we are.... It appears that Dr. Yeun is teaching until one o’clock. Then she has office hours until half past three.” She looked up at Lola. “Would you like Candy to make a spot for you?”
Lola smiled brightly. “Yes, please. That would be ever so helpful.”
“Now,” bustled the dean, “I’m afraid I’ve got to run to a meeting. I apologize I wasn’t able to reschedule it, given the short notice of your visit.”
“Oh, of course, I’m so sorry about that,” Lola replied dutifully, “I’m terribly grateful for your assistance as it is.”
“I insist that you use my office, Miss Stanwick,” continued Fitzsimmons. She pointed out the large round worktable as well as the low table in front of the armchair Lola currently occupied. “They’re at your disposal. I shall return in, oh, I should say about an hour?”
Lola thanked her host with gushing gratitude and got down to business. Precisely one hour and ten minutes later, the dean returned to find Lola sitting in the same armchair, enjoying a final sip of tea. She rose when the older woman approached.
“Thank you so much, Dean Fitzsimmons, for your generosity. Candy’s made my appointment with Dr. Yuen in fifteen minutes. She was wonderful, Candy was. Made up another pot of tea for me. I’ll just pop in with Dr. Yuen and then be on my way.” She handed the dean a card. “Please feel free to contact me if you have anything to add.”
Fitzsimmons’s face lit up with pleasure. “Wonderful,” she enthused. A shyness came into her demeanour. She coughed lightly. “When do you think this might all come to fruition, so to speak?”
Lola pulled a moue of disappointment. “I wish I could tell you. It’s just that it’s all very much on the QT, as it were. Speaking of which,” she pulled out another sheet of paper for the dean. “Please, if you would, our confidentiality agreement. This simply ensures that we keep as tight a lid on our project as we can. You understand.”
The older woman signed without hesitation. Lola returned the document to her slender briefcase. The two shook hands pleasantly, and Lola was given brief directions to the Spectral Studies Department. It was a five-minute walk through the heart of the small campus. Lola passed young women of all shapes and sizes. They ran the expected gambit from serious to flighty, preoccupied to devil-may-care. And yet, every one of them had a similar ease about them; each knew that she was among peers. Not a one gave Lola anything more than a cursory glance.
“Seems you may be more your mother’s daughter than you think,” commented Aubrey. Lola remained silent.
Dr. Felicity Yuen turned out to be a willowy woman with luminous gray hair. She wore an ivory blouse and navy slacks and had a taste for menthol cigarettes. She lit one as Lola introduced herself and explained her presence. Yuen nodded and gestured for Lola to sit.
“I haven’t spoken with AJ since she left,” said the other woman. “Although I’m not surprised she’s a high-ranking official. She’s extremely bright. And driven.”
“Did you expect her to stay within your field?”
Yuen nodded, her silvered hair gleaming in a stray shaft of sunlight. “She was without doubt the most brilliant student I’ve ever had in Spectral Studies. Her thesis—have you read it? I’ll get you a copy before you leave. Her thesis work was stunning. Insightful and creative.”
“You were her supervisor?”
“Yes. Dr. Yip—I suppose I should say Mrs. Smith now—was unable to accept another student, so I got lucky.” Yuen smiled. “Sarah was quite disappointed, I remember.”
“Do you keep in touch with Dr. Yip?”
“Hmm, yes. She writes lovely, funny letters about being a foreigner in Northern China, despite looking just like everyone else there.” Yuen waved at the smoke from her cigarette. “Sarah and I were genuinely thrilled when AJ was accepted to the Temple.”
“That was after her two years here?”
“Mmm. AJ completed her accelerated program in one less year than anyone else in the history of Westbrook College, Miss Stanwick.” Yuen raised a sleek eyebrow. “That’s thousands of girls, you understand. She was something truly special, was our AJ. Gifted with Spells as well as intellectually ambitious. I always thought she would set the Temple alight.”
“Do you know when she completed there?”
“Well, she didn’t actually. She sent me a letter, personally, to explain that she’d had a change of heart.” Yuen finished her cigarette with a shrug. “I always wondered if her father had something to do with it.”
“He didn’t approve?”
Yuen considered the question. “I think he had more political leanings in mind for his only child. Clearly, that is now the path she’s on.”
“Did she ever explain her choice to you, personally?”
Yuen shook her head. “We never spoke in person again, actually. Different circles, you know. AJ made her choice and no longer had a reason to stay involved or interested in Spectral Studies. Some students are like that,” she explained. “One doesn’t take these things to heart, Miss Stanwick.”
“Is the Temple of Conjury the only training available to gifted Spectral students, Dr. Yuen?”
The professor nodded.
Lola sat forward, slightly closing the distance between herself and Yuen. “I’m wondering if there aren’t other ways for someone of Miss Stoudamire’s talents to have gained more training. Perhaps she travelled abroad? Aren’t there Masters who are not affiliated with the Temple? Would they not be able to teach a talented student as well as the Temple?”
Yuen frowned slightly. “Of course, there are, Miss Stanwick. Not everyone appreciates the regimented life at the Temple, although one must admit, it certainly produces the finest quality Conjurers.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t believe AJ took issue with her schooling at the Temple. She was herself always a very disciplined person. Aside from that, she had already completed Year Four when she stopped her studies. By then, I’m quite certain she was long past any adjustment difficulties.” Yuen looked at Lola speculatively. “Are you suggesting AJ continued her studies without sanction from the Temple?”
Lola sat back abruptly with a small laugh. “I wouldn’t know, Dr. Yuen. I’m just getting background for the script, but wouldn’t that make a great story?”
Yuen laughed, clearly disarmed. “I suppose it would. You’d be the better judge of that, Miss Stanwick.”
* * *
As soon as Lola got in sight of a drugstore back in the City, she pulled over and made a telephone call. Betta listened silently to the entirety of Lola’s request. She m
ade no promises of success, but she told Lola to call her the next morning. Lola rang off and relinquished the booth to an elderly man in dark orange tweed. She ordered a sandwich and a coffee, sat at the counter to eat. When she was done, she asked for a glass of water and drank half of it. She left a dollar tip and drove on.
She entered her office to the sound of the telephone ringing.
Pfeiffer sounded impatient: “I’ve been trying you for ages.”
“You sound like my mother,” replied Lola. “What’s the bee in your bonnet?”
“Your man Arbogast. He caused a commotion with the Conjurers.”
Lola checked the clock on her desk: five-forty-eight. “Conjurers? At what time?”
“Quarter of five. They were right on time, like always.”
“To set the building ward?”
“Mm-hmm. Everyone knows you don’t get back in if they’re here. Whatever you forgot, it’s forgot ’Til morning. But Bodewell ran right past one of them and almost made it inside the building. The other one came out the door then and caught him up. They had what one would characterize as a heated discussion.”
“Did he make it inside?”
“Nothing doing. Conjurers aren’t known for flexibility, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“And then?”
Lola could practically hear the shrug over the line. “Bodewell beat it and peeled out of the lot in that racy coupe of his.”
Lola thanked her for the tip and they rang off. She sat for a moment, then sprang back up, grabbed her hat and purse, and was out the door.
Chapter Sixteen
The colourful flower beds and poetic maple stood as before. Lola walked up the front steps and rang, but it was mostly for show. She once again instinctively knew that the house was empty. She looked back out toward the street, then walked slowly along the porch. The windows were still shuttered. The floorboards still creaked.
“You’ve got an audience,” said Aubrey.
Lola shot a glance to her left and caught a flicker of curtains settling back into place.
Aubrey continued: “Getting inside will take time.”
“What can you do in five minutes?”
“Tell you what a bad idea this is. Over and over.”
“Never mind. Let’s go talk to the nosy neighbour.”
The house to the left was a warm buttery yellow. The greenery lining the walk was well tended. A simple front porch held a chair and a smoking stand with a pipe dish. A hanging pot of clematis adorned the far corner from the steps. A rush mat proclaimed this “Home Sweet Home.” A wall scroll in calligraphy conferred wishes for “Safe Entry and Successful Journeys.” There was no bell. Lola knocked politely.
“That Japanese maple looks the twin of Arbogast’s, same height, exact same colouring,” said Aubrey. “And I didn’t notice any other lawns sporting pricey little beauties like these. Could be more than just simple nosiness.”
“That’s what I’m betting on,” murmured Lola.
A cough from the other side of the door preceded some measured Cantonese: “Just a minute.”
The door was painted white, to match the shutters and trim. It opened in less than a minute to reveal a tall, slender man wearing a camel-coloured cardigan over a plain white shirt. His shirt bulged out slightly at waist level. From his careworn features and slight stoop, Lola guessed he was somewhere this side of fifty. His hair brushed the tips of his ears and the original black was overrun with grey. He smiled with yellow teeth. Lola caught a whiff of mellow tobacco. “Yes?”
She smiled tentatively in response. “Uh, hello. Do you know if Bode—I mean, uh, Mr. Arbogast is in? We had a, um, appointment tonight.” She checked her watch. “He wasn’t there.”
“And you came here to...?”
“I, well, I, um, I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
The older man looked her square in the eyes. “You don’t seem his type,” he said.
Lola spluttered indignantly, then huffed, “Never mind. I’ll just wait on his porch.” She whirled around.
“Just hang on there, miss,” he called out. He was amused now. “You’re going to have a tough time with his Wards, if you try to break in.”
“Beg your pardon?” Lola blinked owlishly.
“His house,” the man gestured with a pipe, “it’s Warded tighter than City Hall. It’s not worth it.” He smiled benignly. “If you tell me who you are and why you’re really here, I might be able to help. Bodewell and I, we watch out for one another’s homes, you see. Though, truth to tell, it rarely amounts to much more than mis-delivered packages and such. And something tells me you’re not the delivery girl.” He watched Lola with an amused expression in his eyes.
Lola’s eyes fell to the pipe as she considered it. It had a straight stem and unembellished bowl. She said, “My father smoked a Canadian like that. Smoked it every night without fail.” She looked up into the man’s eyes, noticing the shrewdness she’d missed before. “Might be a sign in this, huh?”
He offered his hand: “Jed Wing.”
“Lola Starke. I’m working for Mr. Arbogast on a personal matter. I’m a private investigator.” She handed over a card. “Apologies for the shiftiness. Force of habit.”
The older man carefully read her card. “Bodewell mentioned he’d hired a private dick.” Wing stopped abruptly. “Sorry, don’t mean any disrespect.”
Lola waved it off. “Have you seen Mr. Arbogast today? We’ve been in touch regularly up to this point,” she lied, “but I haven’t been able to track him down today.”
“He was home, about an hour ago, but I didn’t see him leave. Not unusual, though. I was making my dinner, not keeping tabs on my neighbours.” He smiled.
“Does he park in his garage when he comes in, usually? Would you have noticed him leaving out the back?”
Wing shook his head. “Maybe if I’d been eating at the dining table, but I never do that when I’m alone. I was in front of the radio.” He gestured with a thumb behind him. Lola peered over his shoulder and saw it in the corner of the room, next to a large green armchair.
Lola squared her shoulders. “Mr. Wing, I’ll be level with you. I need to get inside your neighbour’s house. Something’s troubling Mr. Arbogast and he needs help,” she finished. “Can you help me?”
The man hesitated. He looked past Lola’s shoulder at a passing car. He watched it until it pulled up in front of a house halfway down the block. Lola glanced at it as well. Wing coughed lightly.
“As a matter of fact, I can.” He pinned her with a stern look. “But I’m not leaving you alone in there. I’m going in with you.”
He waited for her short nod, then retreated, walking over to a neat secretary under a window. He retrieved a key ring from a tiny drawer. Wing closed his front door firmly and left his pipe in the bowl on his porch. He led Lola back around his own house. They walked along the side of the house and passed through his back gate. Soon, they’d crossed over to Arbogast’s property and were peering into his garage window. No car.
Lola asked, “Does Mr. Josephson have his own car?”
Wing shook his head, his expression sad, but he said nothing. He continued into the yard, latching the gate behind Lola, who followed him to the back door.
“What about the Wards?” asked Lola.
Wing waved his key. “This will disarm them. They won’t reset but I’ll explain it to Bodewell when I see him.”
Lola nodded. She watched as Wing used his keys. Then they entered Arbogast’s kitchen.
Papers littered the countertops and floor. Chairs had been pulled out from the table in the nook. The table itself was turned on its side and stuck partway out of its nook. All the cabinet doors were ajar. Even the oven door was open.
Wing’s horrified glance swept the room.
“I take it Mr. Arbogast is usually very tidy?” Lola asked.
Wing nodded, still openmouthed. He gathered himself with a visible effort. “We need to call the police.”
Lola said, “Hold on there, Mr. Wing. It’s not as bad as it looks. I’d like to take a look around before we decide on anything.”
“But something’s happened to Bodewell. You said it yourself. This is clear proof of it,” the older man countered.
“No, I said he was troubled.” Lola exited the kitchen and walked down a hallway, entering the living room. It was as jumbled and messy as the kitchen. “I’m worried, that’s the truth, but let’s not jump to the wrong conclusions. We don’t know that Mr. Arbogast didn’t do this himself. It’s obvious someone was searching for something here. It’s clear they weren’t concerned with neatness, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t your neighbour. Nothing’s broken here. I understand it must be a shock.” Lola watched Wing closely. “The alternative is that someone broke through the wards in the light of day and ransacked the house. They also then left, re-establishing the wards, without you noticing. Didn’t you just try to tell me these wards were substantial?”
Wing considered Lola’s words carefully. Finally, he said, “You’re not going anywhere without me.”
“Fair enough.”
None of the furniture or decorative items in the living room was actually damaged, but everything was out of place. Photographs were over turned. A chaise-longue and coordinating armchairs were pulled across the room, dragging the rug with them. Cushions lay on the floor.
The same disarray was in the formal dining area, which also had a modest fireplace. Lola checked the grate but saw no evidence of recent ashes. The table was pushed against the wall. The six chairs were overturned, their legs pointing to the stairs.
Wing picked up a framed photograph. “I think this was Sunny’s favorite.” Lola walked over. A boy and a girl sat with their arms around one another. They had the same slim nose, broad forehead, and clear pale gaze. The girl’s lips formed a full rosebud. The boy had a wider mouth. Even without knowing they were twins, one knew they were close. Neither child was smiling. They wore clothes from twenty years ago. Behind them, the lighter shading indicated daylight. Lola saw trees and part of a picket fence, painted white, judging from the brilliant sheen even in the grey shades of the photograph.