The Semester of Our Discontent

by Cynthia Kuhn

  I awoke slowly Monday, swimming up to consciousness gradually, as if I’d been drugged. Obviously the stress was doing strange things to me. I raced through my morning routine and walked to campus, veering at the last minute to go by the coffee shop in the student union. If ever there was a time I needed a bolster of caffeine, it was now.

  Joining the long line in front of the counter, I pulled out my cell phone to check my email. I scrolled through the list of student emails and campus announcements, responding to whatever needed it. Soon, I became aware of familiar voices ahead of me and looked up to see Eldon and Norton conversing. The man between us was extremely tall as well as broad, so he provided a perfect wall of camouflage. I quickly ducked my head again and tried to zero in on what they were saying.

  “It was in Roland’s file,” said Norton. “Right there in black and white.”

  Eldon made a strange wheezing sound, which I eventually realized was a laugh.

  “Of course I called the detective,” Norton continued. “And that was that.”

  “I wouldn’t count my eggs before they hatched,” Eldon warned him.

  “This egg is a golden one. I’m quite sure.”

  “Well, good luck. I know you feel strongly about this.”

  “I do indeed,” said Norton, with a nasty cackle.

  Clearly they were talking about the case since they’d mentioned the detective. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d stepped around the person in front of me—murmuring “I just want to say hi really quick”—and faced both of my colleagues.

  Norton’s jaw dropped, but he recovered quickly.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” I said. “What are we talking about?”

  “Nothing that concerns you,” muttered Norton.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “But I’m just beside myself today, with what’s happened to my cousin, and I wondered if you had any ideas about what’s going on.”

  I was gratified to see color rise in Eldon’s cheeks, though he didn’t speak.

  “Did I hear something about an egg?”

  Norton pulled out his antique pipe and sucked on the mouthpiece for a moment. I could tell he was trying to decide what to say next.

  “We were talking about ordering breakfast,” he said finally. But there was something regretful in his voice, as if he’d lost an opportunity to crow.

  I waited for him to say more.

  No one spoke. A minute passed by, then another, during which we shuffled silently forward as a unit, ever closer to the counter. It was excruciatingly awkward, and eventually there was nothing left to do but return to my place in line.

  I drank deeply from my grande latte on the way to class. Within minutes, the caffeine restored me, and I walked a bit more briskly, turning my thoughts to the questions I’d be asking the students to discuss.

  I was so lost in my planning that I didn’t register who was walking in front of me at first. Once again, it was Norton, but he was talking to Addison this time. I quickened my pace, hoping to hear them while still remaining far enough behind to be unobtrusive. As we passed the fountain, they raised their voices to counter the splashing water.

  “—but I don’t understand why you called the detective,” said Addison.

  “Because she did it,” Norton said, sounding exasperated. “Plain and simple.”

  “Had she seen it, though?” Addison stopped walking abruptly and turned to look at his companion. I slowed down too.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Norton replied. “She knew what was coming. And that, my friend, is more than enough.”

  “I think it does matter.” I cheered inwardly that Addison was not simply buying what Norton was selling. He appeared to have more of a spine than he was generally credited with.

  I hurried to catch up to them, greeted Addison warmly, then asked Norton if I could have a word. I sounded polite, even though we both knew I was going to talk to him with or without his permission.

  Norton gave me a curt nod. The two of them made plans to meet later. I waited until Addison’s tall frame had plodded across to the far sidewalk, then I spun around to face Norton.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation—”

  He fixed me with a glare. “The second time in one day? Are you stalking me?”

  “Not at all.”

  “What do you want, then?”

  I made an effort to soften my tone. “Could you please tell me what you gave to the detective?”

  He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out and lit his pipe, and took a long draw. As he let the acrid smoke out, he watched me out of the corner of his eye. Then his lip curled into a sneer. “Motive. Your cousin killed my friend. I was glad to provide evidence to that effect.”

  “We’re going to have to agree to disagree about the killing part, but what is the evidence?” I plastered on a smile, trying to stay calm.

  He laughed, a brittle and unpleasant sound. “You are not a tenured professor, Dr. Maclean. You are not on the tenure committee. So all I can say to you is that there is formal written evidence. You do the math.”

  Norton smirked, clearly feeling as though he’d put me in my place, and stalked away, puffing on his pipe.

  But he’d said enough to confirm my suspicions. He was talking about Roland’s negative letter about Calista’s tenure bid. He’d found it and given it to the detective as “proof” of her guilt.

  After class, I was on my way to see my cousin. I stopped by the department to check both of our mailboxes first. I wasn’t sure if she would want her mail or not, but the least I could do was bring an offering. A touch of normalcy amid what was probably the least normal environment she’d ever been in.

  A crowd of students quieted and dispersed rather pointedly as I made my way down the hallway. Probably talking about Calista. News like a professor’s arrest would surely have swept the campus already.

  Just when I’d reached the main office, Nate walked through the door. He took one look at my face and pulled me over to the far wall for privacy.

  “I heard,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

  I fought back the tears that had unexpectedly rushed to my eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “How is she doing?” His gaze was full of concern.

  “I’m going to see her now. She’s not doing well, but at least she can have visitors.”

  “Do you know why they arrested her?”

  I shook my head. “I mean, the knife that killed Roland was hers—you knew that, right?”

  “Yes, that came through the grapevine quickly. Is that enough?”

  I shrugged. “They may have more. I don’t know.” I didn’t want to talk about the tenure letter in the department until I knew what we were dealing with.

  He patted my shoulder somewhat awkwardly. “Keep me posted. And if there’s anything I can do, call me immediately.”

  “Thanks, Nate.” I promised to let him know what I found out.

  He took a few steps, then turned back to look at me over his shoulder. “I mean it, Lila, call me anytime. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I crossed the hall, stepped into the office, and greeted my colleagues. Millicent was typing on the computer keyboard so fast that her hands almost blurred, Eldon was looking over her shoulder at the computer screen and giving directions, and Spencer was sitting in the chair next to her desk, listening intently to whatever it was Eldon was saying about his Shakespeare course. They were so immersed in what they were doing that I needn’t have bothered saying hello, but their lack of response was fine with me. I wasn’t up to fielding any questions about my cousin, anyway.

  I gathered the materials in both of our mailboxes and went into the empty hallway to sort them. An academic journal and several flyers for Calista went into my bag. Matching flyers and student papers for me soon followed, but I pau
sed to rip open a small yellow padded envelope with my name written on it on block letters.

  Inside, there was a single sheet of heavy white stock. I unfolded the paper and read the printed words instructing me to wear the enclosed necklace the next time I saw Calista, followed by “Tell no one else.”

  Perplexed, I looked into the envelope and saw a coiling of chain at the bottom, which I pulled out. The silver necklace had a round disk attached, engraved with the same emblem that had been on the book the detective showed me, featuring interwoven thorny branches around a rose. What the heck?

  Calista sat down across from me. Her face seemed paler and thinner than usual, possibly a combination of the orange jumpsuit and the florescent lights. She picked up the black phone attached to the wall.

  I did the same. The mouthpiece had a top note of antiseptic, but I caught a whiff of stale breath underneath. I held it a little farther away than was comfortable for my wrist, but it seemed the lesser of two evils.

  “How are you?” I asked her.

  “Hanging in there,” she said. “Thanks for coming to see me. How’s Cady?”

  “She’s fine. I’ll take good care of her until you’re out. Which will be soon, I hope.”

  “Since the judge refused to set bail, it depends on when the trial is.”

  “Why did he refuse it?” That didn’t bode well.

  “He was a friend of Roland’s. He said the monstrous nature of this crime warranted a denial.” My cousin’s expression was solemn. “You know I didn’t do it, right, Lil?”

  “Of course. And I’m going to try to figure out who did.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Well, I can gather information. I’m a scholar. It’s what I do.” At her dubious air, I went on. “Put it this way: if I don’t do something, I’ll go crazy.

  She gave me a small smile.

  “Listen, I overheard Norton talking about a letter that gives you motive. He means Roland’s, right?”

  “Surely. I told you Roland made it clear the letter wasn’t going to be positive.”

  “Yes, but if you didn’t even see it, how could it provide motive?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe just the fact that Roland told me about it is sufficient?”

  “Does the detective know he told you about it?”

  “Yes. I really didn’t think I had anything to hide.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment.

  “Well, if we’re going to get you out of here, we need to find some other suspects pronto. Just between us, who is capable of killing Roland?”

  Calista’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t want to think anyone at Stonedale could have done this.”

  “I don’t either, but we know you didn’t do it, so we need to come up with someone else the police can look at. If you had to choose a colleague, who would it be?”

  She studied the ceiling, pursing her lips. “That’s a really hard question.”

  “I mean, the most obvious person might be Tad, given all of his tenure stuff.”

  “True, but Tad isn’t the most assertive person in the world.”

  Not exactly an iron-clad alibi. “Maybe he was overcompensating for that lack of assertiveness by stabbing Roland?”

  “I doubt it. He’s from the type of people who use money to fight things, rather than fists.”

  Not crossing him off of my list yet.

  “What about Willa?”

  “Not in a million years.” She set her jaw. “I understand you haven’t known these people very long, but they’re my friends.”

  “Fair enough. Sorry. I just don’t know anyone well enough to think through this myself. Should we stop?”

  “No. It’s weirdly comforting to articulate why I don’t think my friends are murderers.” Calista studied a fingernail on her hand as she thought. “Although if anyone should have had a grudge against Roland—aside from Tad—it was Willa.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He always seemed like he was out to get her in public. Ever since I’ve been here, anyway, whenever she tried to present something to the department, he always mocked it.”

  “Like Eldon did?”

  “Yes, but he was nothing compared to Roland, who was much more contemptuous.”

  “What did Willa do?”

  “She held her own, of course, but it was unbearable.”

  “Couldn’t she have brought a formal complaint against Roland?” I didn’t know how Willa managed to keep working with him. It sounded like an awful situation.

  “Yes, but that’s not her style. She prefers to confront people directly, without involving the administration. Though at one point, they were both called into the dean’s office because a faculty member from another department reported that the business of some university committee was being affected by Roland’s outbursts towards Willa, but as far as I know, nothing official happened.”

  “So could she have snapped, after all the years of poor treatment?”

  We both pondered this. Finally, Calista said quietly, “I just can’t imagine it. She’s all about righting wrongs, especially those having to do with equality. I don’t know if you know this, but she’s made quite a name for herself in academic scholarship. In fact, that may be one of the reasons Roland had it in for her. I think he was jealous of her success.”

  Ah, jealousy. Now there was a motive. Unfortunately, it was the victim’s. We needed one for the killer. “What about Addison? They were close friends, right?”

  “Yes, but c’mon. Addy a murderer?”

  We shared a smile through the glass. The very idea was preposterous. Addison was the sort of person who would stop traffic to let a ladybug cross the street.

  “How about Norton? If I were forced to vote for someone in a murderer poll, he would be my most likely candidate.”

  Calista rolled her eyes. “He is hostile. No question there. But he and Roland were allies, so it wouldn’t make any sense.”

  I was worried we were going to run out of time, so I started speaking more quickly, even though I felt like I was grasping at straws.

  “How about the woman you mentioned before, who was friends with Roland but stopped speaking to him?”

  “Elisabetta Vega?”

  I nodded.

  Calista rejected the idea outright. “Elisabetta is always opinionated—in a necessary way, if you know what I mean—but she is a very compassionate person. She would never kill someone.”

  “Alright, do you think Spencer was competitive enough to have done something? I mean, he hardly seems a likely villain from what I’ve seen, but you did mention their history.”

  “Their competition was more academic than personal.”

  “But didn’t Spencer back Tad in the tenure battle?”

  “That’s true. But that’s because he is a principled, good person. He stood up for Tad because it was the right thing to do, and deep down, I think Roland knew that.”

  “Do you trust Judith?”

  “With my life. Plus, she was just attacked. That makes her a victim.”

  “Just to play devil’s advocate here, she was hit with a book. Couldn’t she have thrown it into the air on top of herself?”

  Calista shook her head vehemently. “No way.”

  “Okay, presuming she was attacked, who would do that?”

  “I can’t think of anyone. She is one of the best people you could ever meet.”

  Something occurred to me. “You know, Roland’s killer and Judith’s attacker might not even be the same person…”

  She sat up straight and considered this. “You’re right. Just because they happened close to each other doesn’t automatically mean they’re connected.”

  “Who could have wanted to hurt Judith?”

  She sighed. “No idea. She’s adored by ever
yone.”

  I suddenly remembered the necklace, which I’d worn tucked inside my shirt. I pulled it out and showed it to her.

  Her face grew even paler, if that was possible.

  “Where did you get that? Put it away,” she said, flapping her hand urgently. “Right now.”

  “Someone put it in my mailbox,” I said. “Isn’t it the same decoration from the book and the knife? What is it?”

  She closed her eyes briefly. “I can’t tell you. But keep it hidden.”

  “Why? What does it mean?”

  Calista looked down at the table.

  I pulled out the letter and pressed it up against the glass so she could read it. “This note was in the same envelope. Can you make any sense of it?”

  She scanned it quickly and shook her head.

  “Why won’t you tell me what that symbol means?”

  “I’m sorry—I just can’t. I have no idea why you were asked to wear the necklace here. But do not show it around, please. You have to trust me, Lil.”

  A buzzer sounded. I knew that was our cue to say goodbye. “Love you. Be strong.”

  “You too,” she said, before hanging up the phone.

  The prisoners stood, almost in unison. Calista turned sideways and gave me an apologetic look before filing out of the room with them.

  I watched her, depressed at the thought of her staying in here one minute longer and confused about why, even now, she was keeping secrets.

  That night, I took a picture of the necklace with my cell phone, emailed it to myself, and searched for it on Google.

  Nothing.

  Then I tried doing a search on different variations of roses and thorns, which brought up hundreds of images ranging from illustrations of Sleeping Beauty’s castle to tattoo galleries. Apparently, thorny roses were very popular as body art. A few of the folktale illustrations were similar, though not identical, to the image on the necklace, where the thorny branches were stylized: the interlocked twists and turns created a beautifully ornate pattern. The rosebud at the center of the design was simple in contrast, just a spiral to indicate petal tops, with a single curved line forming a cup shape beneath.