Saving Face (Mount Faith Series: Book 1)

by Brenda Barrett

  "Say goodbye to undercover," Natasha said under her breath.

  "Goodbye, undercover," Harry said dutifully and grinned.

  He parked the car and they got out, Bancroft was sitting on a stone bench under a tree with a dog sitting at his feet.

  He opened his eyes a crack and looked at them and then closed them again.

  "This is private property," his voice was raspy. "My gates are opened because of some electrical problem with it. Not an invitation for you to drive in."

  "We are the police," Harry said in the tough voice he reserved for particularly difficult criminals. "We have to ask you some questions."

  Bancroft laughed and then coughed. He was in a heavy sweater and a cap. The dog started growling.

  "Shut up Daryl," He said to the dog sternly.

  Natasha opened her mouth in shock.He called the dog Daryl? She looked at Harry who was struggling to keep a straight face.

  Bancroft shifted on the seat. "I didn't do it. Don't know anybody who could have done it, and not interested in whatever it is."

  "Dr. Bancroft," Natasha said, "we will treat you as an un-cooperating person of interest and handcuff you and bring you to the station for questioning if we have to."

  Bancroft coughed again. "Don't care. My dog will call my lawyer when you cart me off."

  "Is he hallucinating?" Natasha asked Harry.

  They stood sternly in front of Bancroft, his head slumped into his chest, and then they heard snoring.

  "I told him he shouldn't come outside in the cold air," said a voice behind them. "I apologize for him," it was his wife Celeste, "but he really isn't up to seeing visitors. He is very sick with a particularly virulent form of the flu, but he insists that he is fine. He was sedated just an hour ago!"

  "We need to ask him some questions," Harry said harshly.

  "Oh," Celeste looked at them curiously, "I remember you from The President's Ball," she looked at Natasha. "This is interesting. Were you undercover?" Her eyes looked excited.

  "Yes I was," Natasha said. "This is not to be broadcasted Mrs. Bancroft."

  "Of course not," Celeste said eagerly. "Let me go wake up old sour puss. The influenza really has him out of sorts. He's not used to being sick."

  She woke up Bancroft, who coughed and then looked up at them blearily.

  "Who are you?"

  "We are the police," Harry repeated. "We need to ask you some questions about the death of Edward Carlisle."

  Bancroft inhaled sharply. "He was murdered, wasn't he?"

  "Yes Sir," Natasha said. "Do you know anything about it?"

  "No," Bancroft said. "One day he was there wondering around the office with his vague, inept self and the next minute he had a heart attack. Really convenient I thought. I wanted the position for some time. I thought he was a waste of space." He cleared his throat. "You know why he got the job, and kept it for so long?"

  "Why?" Harry asked.

  "Because Daryl M. Carter, chairman of the board and Carlisle were bosom bodies. They played golf every Wednesday." He coughed and stood up shakily. "I disliked the two of them," his eyes were red and watering, "and I am sorry I gave my dog such an ugly name as Daryl."

  He stumbled up to the front of the house with the dog walking behind him and pushing his legs.

  Celeste looked at them anxiously. "I don't think my husband would kill anyone," she said hurriedly, "I have to go and help him. Please see yourselves out."

  Harry and Natasha headed back down to the school, no closer to their goal than when they had started. They went to the library; this time because the place had become increasingly cold and the library had a central heater.

  "I swear, the only thing left to happen here is for it to snow," Natasha said sitting down around the table and chafing her cold hands. "I wish my apartment in Santa Cruz had a tiny bit of this kind of coolness."

  Harry turned on his laptop. "If I could I would move up here for the coolness, but we just bought a house so we have to stay put. Back to this case though. I am not suspecting Bancroft. The man is quite open with his dislikes and doesn't care who knows it, but then again that may be just his arrogance. I think we should interview him again, when he is more lucid perhaps. Look here." He pointed to an email that he had been looking at from kellove.

  Natasha leaned over and read it.

  August 12, 2008

  From: Edward Carlisle (edward.carlisle@mountfaithuniversity.com)

  To: Kellove (kellove@mail.com)

  I am tired of living a lie. I wish I could be with you now. Forever and always.

  "I read that one," Natasha said. "That was a month before he died."

  "But," Harry said, bringing up another mail, "it seemed as if he changed his mind. Doesn't this one sound as if they were breaking up?"

  August 30, 2008

  From: Edward Carlisle (edward.carlisle@mountfaithuniversity.com)

  To: Kellove (kellove@mail.com)

  If only things could be different. If only we could rewrite time. I would love you, you would love me, and we would be happy. But I understand that there are some people around who don't want us to be together.

  "It does kind of sound like break up or his usual ramblings," Natasha said, "but there was only one more correspondence after that."

  August 31, 2008

  From: kellove@mail.com

  To: Edward Carlisle (edward.carlisle@mountfaithuniversity.com)

  I will love you forever.

  "Then Carlisle died four days after that," Harry said.

  "How can we find out who Kellove is?" Natasha asked.

  "We could get the details from the email company," Harry said, "which would require a whole lot of red tape or we could do some good old fashioned sleuthing. In the emails, it sounds like kellove is pretty near. Maybe attends this school or lives close by."

  Natasha raised her eyebrows. "So we would start with the school's database then. Can you get access to that without red tape?"

  Harry nodded. "Sure. I worked in Academic Affairs for a week and chatted up the secretary there. She will help. What am I looking for though?"

  Natasha knocked her forehead with a pen. "This maybe a long shot, but look up students whose names begin with K-E-L. When you are done, look for professors as well. Every single one of them is important."

  "And if there is no kellove in this school then what?" Harry asked.

  "Then we go through the red tape," Natasha said. "We have to wait."

  "You know," Harry said leaning back in his chair, "I was thinking. There are a few people here who show no remorse at the man dying and they freely admit it. His wife, Bancroft... who wanted his job...and his secretary. This Kellove person is the only one who may be able to tell us more about him and give us some insight into the days leading up to his death."

  Natasha nodded. "And maybe D.M. Carter. He was his friend and we haven't interviewed him yet."

  "We owe him a visit." Harry sighed. "When you spoke to him at the hospital he was too drugged up to talk. Lets hope this time he can give us clues as to what really happened to Edward Carlisle in his final days."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Taj walked through the front door of his house and realized two things simultaneously: he was bone tired and he really missed his life as an ordinary professor who wanted to start up a psychiatry center.

  He walked straight to the refrigerator in his kitchen and pulled out a bottle of orange juice. He had been going in and out of meetings, traveling to meetings or chairing meetings. Thankfully, he had just two more days to go—Bancroft was coming in on Monday morning and he had a reluctant respect for him and his high-octane job. Everybody wanted a little piece of the president.

  He kicked off his shoes and walked into the living room with his drink in hand. Maybe that was the whole point to Bancroft allowing him to see how stressful it was—but there were also the benefits. One could get used to the bowing and scraping and excessive respect the staff and even outsiders gave him. When he made speeches,
they hung on to his every word.

  Two national newspapers, covered his last speech at the JTA meeting, all because he had mentioned that the mental health of many persons was adversely affected by their diet. It wasn't even a new theory, but one that was around for years. He had been toying with the concept of nutrition and mental health and was very pressed for time with coming up with a new speech, so he had used it. They had given him a full write up on that speech.

  He could get used to the power and he could make a big difference. He knew that. He could feel it. He closed his eyes and tried to wind down. Natasha's smiling face was immediately imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

  He missed her. He missed her perfume. He missed her voice. That quirky way she smiled and that piercing way she looked at him. The attraction had not even quelled with a few days of hardly speaking to her.

  Maybe she really was the one. He turned on the lamp beside his head and dimmed it to low. He reached for his remote and played the music that was in his stereo.

  After The President's Ball, he had gone searching for his Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes CD. The song, I Miss You came on.How appropriate, he smiled. He did miss her. He called her phone. It rang several times and then she answered in a whisper.

  "Hey Taj."

  "Hey Lady Police," Taj smiled involuntarily. "Why are you whispering?"

  "I am in the library with Harry, we are just heading out."

  "Well, come over," Taj said, "I haven't seen you for days…feels like years."

  "Aww," Natasha said, "look out for me in three minutes, I miss you too."

  Taj closed his eyes and it seemed as if he dozed off because when he opened them again there was a knocking on his door.

  He wearily got up and looked through the peephole. It was Natasha. Looking fresh and lovely with her hair in crinkly curls.

  She pressed one eye to the peephole. "Open up, Presi!"

  Taj opened the door grinning and she moved into his arms, hugging him tight. "You are a sight for sore eyes. What are they doing to you in that office?"

  Taj held on to her inhaling her scent. "I had no idea that the post of president was so involved. I am still getting acclimatized."

  He led her to the sofa and they both stretched out on it hugging tightly. Taj regaled her with his weekly exploits and Natasha updated him on hers.

  "I could get used to this," Taj said. "When a guy finds a woman he can just talk to, it's bliss."

  Natasha kissed him on his neck. "I could get used to this, when a girl finds a powerful acting president she can lay on the settee with..."

  They both chuckled at that.

  "How long will you be on this campus?" Taj asked seriously.

  "The semester," Natasha sighed, "twelve weeks the Supe gave me and Harry. Problem is... this case is not so simple."

  "Many things are simple," Taj said, "most murders are committed because of strong passion. Passion for money, love, position, sex, status, family."

  "That's the thing," Natasha said, "so many people could have killed Carlisle because of those things."

  "Have you tried to re-enact the scene?" Taj asked.

  "Yes, we have," Natasha murmured sleepily. "Edward Carlisle was killed, according to the coroner's report, between nine and ten on a Monday morning, from what appeared to be a heart attack. Our theory is that he was injected with potassium chloride. His office was pretty open. His secretary was not there. Really open thoroughfare for someone who would be familiar with his whereabouts." Basically that's it." She clutched his chest and nuzzled her face closer to him. "You smell nice."

  "You too," he clutched her warmth to him and kissed her on her forehead. They both drifted off to sleep in that position.

  Taj's eyes flew opened at six-thirty when his body woke him up. Natasha was gently snoring in his arms and the arm she was laying on was dead.

  He smiled at her in the half dark and contemplated whether he should wake her up. It was Friday, his fifth and last day as president. He had a breakfast meeting at eight with the vice president and a ten o'clock interview with a potential professor in the College of Arts. No wonder Bancroft didn't waste time on trivial greetings.

  He smiled in the dark and gently eased himself from around Natasha. He had loved sleeping with her, even though his neck was alerting him that sleeping in the couch was not the ideal.

  "Where am I?" Natasha mumbled waking up, then her eyes flew open and she looked at Taj. "They are going to crucify me on the female dorm if I go back there now."

  "Good morning to you, too," Taj said grinning. "Want to finish off the rest of your sleep in my bed?"

  Natasha groaned. "Might as well. Where to?"

  Taj pointed her to the master bedroom. "The key is on the center table when you decide to leave. You can drop it off at my office."

  "Okay," Natasha said slipping under the comforter.

  She was out like a light again and Taj took out his work clothes and tiptoed to the guest room. He enjoyed having her there. He had to stop himself from singing too loudly in the shower though, because he felt a sudden joy in his heart.

  Natasha showered at nine, groaning all the way. Harry was supposed to meet her at the dorm and then they both were to go over to D.M. Carter's house at nine-fifteen.

  When Harry called ten minutes before, she had been in a pleasant dream with flowers and fruits and a smiling Miranda Carlisle telling her that poison was not so bad if the victim died quickly. She washed herself frantically. She had told Harry to meet her at Taj's house. She had hung up the phone on him mid-chuckle and rushed to the bathroom.

  Yesterday's clothes would have to do. She grabbed up her blue jeans and red long sleeved sweater. The morning was nippy anyway so last nights clothes would do just as well. She finger combed her crinkly curls to look presentable. She was just on time because Harry rung the doorbell when she was bending under the settee trying to work her shoes out form under there.

  She opened the door and smiled at him. "Hey."

  "Hey," Harry said. "Sleeping with the president?"

  Natasha huffed, "Yup, just sleep mind you. A guilt-free time was had by all."

  Harry chuckled. "Your car was at the front of the house all night. This visit next door will be awkward."

  Natasha groaned. "Can't be helped. I will just have to put on my best battle face when talking to D.M. Carter."

  They walked out of the house together and headed next door. The door was wide opened and Harry knocked on it.

  "Follow the television sound." shouted D.M. Carter.

  They followed the television sound into a den where Carter was sprawled off in a settee. He had on a robe and a lounge pants, his face had on a few days worth of beard.

  He indicated to the chair in front of him. "Morning Detectives. Sit. Anne said you were already next door," he looked at Natasha quizzically, "so I figured it would be safe to leave the door opened. I still feel a little weak. Walking is an effort for me. Just a little walk to the door has me gasping for breath. My doctor said this sensation will past soon."

  Natasha looked at him sheepishly. "Both Taj and I had a rough night we fell asleep."

  D.M. waved his hand. "I really don't need the explanation."

  "I hope this wont hurt his chances for the presidency." Natasha said stoutly. "I heard the process involves the president having a squeaky clean record and overnight female guests may pose a problem."

  D.M. chuckled. "The presidency. If that were the major consideration right now then both participants would be ineligible for the position. Bancroft because he's an ass and Taj because he spent the night in the arms of a very attractive detective."

  Natasha tried hard not to blush. They were supposed to be doing the detective work not discussing her personal life.

  She cleared her throat and looked at him, a spark in her eye. "Who wants you dead?"

  Carter sobered up instantly, a look of fear crossing his face. "I have no idea. Maybe you should start with who wanted Edward Carlisle dead, s
ince we are assuming that both incidents are related."

  "You were friends, you must have an idea," Harry rebutted.

  D.M. shook his head. "We weren't close friends. Edward was a hard person to get close to. Parts of his life were dark and impenetrable. Hard to get into."

  "Tell us what you do know about him."

  "He was friendly and had a dry sense of humor. We played golf…a few of us…every Wednesday at the country club near here."

  "Who are the others that played golf with you guys?"

  "The regular crowd. Edward Carlisle, Patrick Swan, V.J. Nicholson, and Kingsley Fry. We serve on several boards together, including this school's board. From time to time Edward would carry a friend or two to join."

  "Male friends?" Harry asked swiftly jotting down the names.

  "Well yes," D.M. said, “of course. Females are rather impatient with our company, especially at golf."

  Harry nodded understandingly. Natasha rolled her eyes. "Can you remember any names of the friends who accompanied Edward to the games?"

  "Well," D.M. scratched his chin, "there was a football coach, can't remember his name. Oh, Jerry Foster. He had a decent swing.

  There was Ian Grant, he was lousy, but he made a good caddy. Only wanted to caddy for Carlisle though and seemed to hate V.J."

  He sighed. "And then there is Kelvin Hart. He's a lecturer here. He is a very tactile person. He loves to hug and touch and the other guys and I found it offensive. I spoke to Edward about it and he told him to stop coming to the games. I think he told him I was the one who raised concerns. He actually threatened me. That was odd behavior.

  Then there is Sol Hunter. He makes everybody look like they are not trying at the game. He's Edward's friend. He only got to play one game with us before Edward died.