by Clea Simon
‘Get out!’ Her voice was ragged, and Dulcie wondered if she, too, was going to cry. ‘Just – get out.’
Dulcie barely had time to duck into a recessed doorway before Alyson’s door opened. She held her breath as Tom stumbled past, his face in his hands. Blinded by tears, he didn’t even look up until he reached the elevator. She peeked out to see him punch the call button and ducked back into the doorway as he turned back toward the woman who had just kicked him out.
‘Alyson,’ he called, his voice pleading. ‘I did it for you, Alyson. To save you.’
The elevator door opened then, and he stepped in and was gone.
‘Whoa.’ Dulcie leaned back against the door where she had sheltered, unsure of how to proceed. She had been about to confront her student, hoping to dispel a horrible suspicion that had crept into her head. A suspicion that Tom’s parting words only seemed to confirm. Now, however, she had reason to believe that this suspicion was not only true, it may have had fatal consequences.
‘Alyson?’ She knocked gently on the junior’s door. ‘It’s me, Dulcie,’ she said. ‘I’ve come back.’
‘What?’ The woman who opened the door was a far cry from the cool, collected junior she knew. Alyson Beaumont was red-faced, her eyes swollen. ‘Oh, this is not a good time,’ she said, and began to close the door.
‘Please.’ Dulcie put her hand on it. She was small, shorter than her student, but Alyson gave way, and Dulcie followed her student in. ‘Alyson,’ she asked, taking a seat once more beside her student on that fancy sofa. ‘What was your relationship with Roland Fenderby?’
The face that looked up at her said it all. Swollen eyes wide and blinking, mouth already trembling with more of the tears that stained her pale cheeks. Still, Dulcie had to confirm what she suspected. She fished a pack of tissues from her bag and pushed it toward her student before continuing. ‘I know Professor Fenderby set aside research material for you. He wanted to give you an edge on your thesis. Help you out more than he would many other students. Was he …’ She left the sentence open, waiting.
Alyson sniffed and nodded. ‘I didn’t know he’d done that – with the papers,’ she said. ‘I didn’t ask him to. In fact, I told him I didn’t care. That the Goths weren’t my thing.’ She stopped to reach for a tissue. ‘We had such a fight.’
‘And he did that because …?’ Never, Dulcie realized, had she so wanted to be wrong. Only everything she was hearing pointed at one conclusion.
Alyson blew her nose and looked toward the window, and Dulcie feared she was concocting a story. ‘Alyson,’ she said, keeping her voice soft. ‘Whatever happened wasn’t your fault. You were the student. He was—’
‘You don’t understand.’ The junior cut her off, turning back toward her with a new urgency in her voice. ‘Nobody does. It wasn’t what you think. Wasn’t – ugly. Roland Fenderby and I were in love.’
It was all Dulcie could do not to interrupt. In fact, she found herself biting her lip to keep silent as the golden-haired junior described what had happened.
‘It started when I was taking his class freshman year,’ she began. She’d been foundering, she admitted. College had been harder than she’d anticipated, and the combination of beauty and brains that had made her a star in high school didn’t seem to have the same effect here. Only Roland Fenderby, a tenured professor, had recognized her brilliance. He had taken a special interest in her right from the start.
As she spoke, her kitten came into the room, jumping up on the sofa beside her and began to wash. ‘He said he wanted to mentor me,’ said Alyson, as they both watched the kitten, and Dulcie heard the echoes of Alyson’s excitement and pride.
Roland had believed in her, Alyson was saying. He’d given her extra tutoring, even loaned her books from his personal library.
Grooming her, Dulcie thought. As a predator does to a potential victim, a young and impressionable student, for example. Alyson, of course, saw it differently.
‘I know he was older than me, but I’ve dated a lot of older men,’ she said. ‘And we shared something.’
Before long, the pack of tissues was empty, and Dulcie got up to hunt down more and then to refill Alyson’s glass of water. ‘I knew how he’d committed to his wife when they were both too young. She was his student, too, you know. Only she never fulfilled her promise.’
Dulcie was glad to be in the kitchenette then, where Alyson couldn’t see her face. Still, she nearly dropped the glass as Alyson kept talking.
‘That happened a lot to Roland,’ she was saying. ‘Women were drawn to him, and sometimes they got jealous and lashed out.’
‘Wait.’ Dulcie put the glass down before she could spill it. ‘You don’t mean – the harassment suit?’
Alyson nodded, apparently unaware of the look of horror on Dulcie’s face. ‘Exactly. Roland told me all about it. It had happened before. Some girl came on to him, but he wasn’t interested. He told me all about it, right afterward.’
‘So you gave him an alibi.’ Dulcie felt sick.
More nodding. ‘From what Roland said, I think he and I were together then. I mean, I didn’t give all the details but …’ The hint of a smile played over her lips. Dulcie had to put her head down to fight the dizziness.
‘Of course, that was before the whole thing with the Mildon.’ Alyson kept talking. ‘In fact, I wonder if she was involved with that. Wanting to make trouble between us.’
‘But she didn’t know—’ Dulcie caught herself. Tom must have figured it out. I did it for you. He must have alerted the authorities about the inappropriate relationship, and Alyson must have blamed Mina. It didn’t matter. Alyson was never going to testify on Mina’s behalf. She hadn’t reached that point yet. Hadn’t let go of the illusion of love. An illusion that Fenderby himself had seemed poised to shatter.
‘What do you mean “make trouble”?’ Dulcie asked, an even more horrible thought forming in her mind. ‘Why would the confusion at the Mildon have caused any trouble for you?’
‘Well, you know.’ Alyson shrugged, her tone becoming strained. ‘Roland thought that maybe I didn’t appreciate what he’d done for me. That I wasn’t properly, I don’t know, appreciative?’
She looked at Dulcie as if her tutor might have the answer.
‘As if,’ Dulcie began, her voice stuck at a whisper. Alyson had been used, badly. Worse, from the young woman’s viewpoint, she may have sensed that her lover was getting ready to discard her. Dulcie cleared her throat and tried again. ‘As if you weren’t fulfilling your potential?’
‘No! It wasn’t like that,’ Alyson burst out. She might be deluded but she wasn’t a fool. ‘He loved me. I know it. I just made a mistake. He wouldn’t have left …’
She broke down sobbing again, leaving Dulcie with no response beyond patting her back. The movement – or perhaps it was the heart-rending wail Alyson gave as she caught her breath – roused the kitten, who jumped to the floor.
‘Oh, Roland!’ Alyson cried, leaving Dulcie little option but to continue petting her as if she were the little marmalade.
It was an odd experience, Dulcie thought, as the kitten brushed up against her shin. With her free hand Dulcie reached to hoist her up, needing some comfort herself. Because in light of what Alyson had told her – the lies, the opportunity, and the heartbreaking motive – Dulcie couldn’t escape the conclusion that Alyson may have killed her lover. For many reasons, and not just for the sake of the little cat who now nestled by her side, she could only hope she was wrong.
THIRTY-EIGHT
As Alyson’s sobs slowly subsided, Dulcie considered what to do next. She didn’t think it likely that Alyson would go to the police. For starters, if the young woman had looked wrung out before, she’d be exhausted now. Besides, Dulcie doubted she would see the need. Alyson was in such deep denial she didn’t think she’d done anything wrong.
Dulcie had to admit, she felt sorry for the younger woman. If – and it was still a big if – Alyson had in fact killed Rola
nd Fenderby it was in large part because he had manipulated her. Used her and then was ready to discard her. It would be enough to break many women. When Dulcie thought of the small part she may have unwittingly played – after all, she was probably the reason Ruby had delayed Fenderby’s request about the papers – she felt a twinge of, well, not guilt, exactly. But culpability. Which for now expressed itself in murmurs of ‘there, there,’ and when Alyson at last hiccupped and swallowed, the offer of a handful of Kleenex and a fresh glass of water.
‘Do you have anyone you want me to call?’ It was weak, but it was the best she could offer as Alyson wiped her face. ‘Like, maybe a support group?’
‘You mean, because of his – because of my loss?’ Alyson blinked.
Dulcie bit her lip. She’d been thinking in terms of sexual harassment, but clearly Alyson wasn’t there yet. ‘Not exactly,’ she said. ‘But I know, on campus—’
‘No, no way.’ For a moment, Dulcie thought Alyson understood. Until, that is, she began to speak again. ‘I can’t do any of my grieving publicly. Despite everything, Roland’s wife insisted on hanging on to their sham of a marriage. And now that he’s— that he’s gone, she’ll never let go.’
‘Did she know?’ Despite herself, Dulcie was shocked.
‘Of course.’ Alyson replied. ‘He had told her he was going to leave her as soon as we became involved. Only she was making life difficult for him.’
‘Ah.’ It was the best Dulcie could do. She might have been raised in the woods, but even Dulcie knew better than to believe a story like that one.
The real question was whether Alyson believed it – or if she knew she was in the process of being dumped. Men like Fenderby were serial offenders, and it was only a matter of time before he found another young woman as – what had Ruby’s word been? – as malleable as Alyson. But now that the junior had calmed down – she was letting the kitten bat at her finger – Dulcie didn’t see how she could push that one. Better, she decided, that she should bring this latest bit of information to Detective Rogovoy. He had told her to stay out of it, but surely this bombshell put everything in a different light.
With what she hoped were sympathetic sounds, Dulcie rose to leave. Alyson’s outburst appeared to have done her good, and she barely looked up as Dulcie got her coat and headed out.
‘I hope she rots in prison.’ Alyson’s voice reached her as she opened the door.
‘His wife?’ Dulcie’s voice cracked on the question. Surely, this was too much.
‘No,’ Alyson responded, still playing with the kitten. ‘That girl who set out to ruin him.’ She didn’t even look up as Dulcie gasped. ‘I think it’s pretty clear that she must have killed poor Roland.’
THIRTY-NINE
Dulcie was dialing Mina’s number even before the elevator had descended.
‘Pick up, pick up,’ she urged the phone. When voicemail responded, she hung up and tried again.
She had to tell her cousin about Alyson. Not only that it was the junior who had destroyed Mina’s case, but that the other girl would most definitely not be testifying on her behalf. In a way, it didn’t matter. Alyson’s experience – whether she recognized it or not – supported Mina’s suit, and although Dulcie would do her best to keep the junior’s confidence, she was certainly going to report it. Fenderby had been a predator: a user of young women. And even after his death, his actions – and Alyson’s lies – were still causing Mina harm. Dulcie didn’t know if they’d get Alyson to tell her story to the dean, but just knowing the truth about why her suit had been dismissed had to give Mina a boost.
‘Mina, it’s Dulcie.’ She finally gave in and addressed the voicemail. ‘Call me?’ There was too much to explain.
Plus, Dulcie realized, she had questions of her own. And as she strode out of the building, she decided to try her cousin’s phone again. For starters, Dulcie was curious as to why her cousin had been in the archives. Why in particular she had been looking at the materials the late professor had procured for his girlfriend. Dulcie didn’t think that Mina had any connection to Fenderby, and she would swear that her cousin was no murderer. But Mina had been oddly elusive about her whereabouts the morning of his death – saying only that she had left the library after making a brief appearance. In anyone else, Dulcie acknowledged, such evasiveness would be suspicious. For now, she put such thoughts out of her mind and focused on Alyson’s misdirected anger. Mina wasn’t safe.
‘Mina, it’s me again.’ She paused to think of a message she could leave. Some quick warning that would give her cousin a heads-up without causing undue panic. ‘I’ve got some news,’ she said at last. ‘Kind of mixed, good and bad. For starters, I think I may know what happened with – you know – the thing.’ For all Dulcie knew, Mina might play her messages where others could hear them, and officially she was still bound by the gag order.
‘I also have some questions for you.’ Dulcie spoke quickly, before the automated system could cut her off. ‘About the library,’ she was talking a mile a minute now. ‘And, well, Mina, I don’t think you should say anything to anybody. I’ll explain. Call me!’
She turned the phone off, then realized her mistake. Although her time in the library had gotten her in the habit of powering down all her devices, in this case, she wanted to be reached. In fact, she wanted the ring tone to be as loud as possible, to make sure she didn’t miss Mina’s call while she was walking home.
‘Damn.’ In the growing dusk, it was hard for Dulcie to see what she was doing. All the buttons seemed to bring her back to the message function. Had Chris programmed some kind of shortcut for her that she’d forgotten? After a minute or two of fumbling, she thought she had it. Both her ringtone – Esmé’s most aggrieved mew – and the vibrate function were on their top setting. Dulcie tucked the device back into her bag and looked up to see a figure striding toward her.
‘D-Dulcie!’ Tom Walls stepped into the light, but not before Dulcie had jumped back. ‘Are you—?’
‘I’m fine.’ Dulcie snapped, fear causing her to momentarily forget her manners. ‘You startled me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he managed to say. He turned toward the high-rise, the light from its lobby illuminating his face, and sighed, leaving his sentence unfinished. He looked tired, Dulcie thought. And torn, as if he were suffering from some great heartache.
Why hadn’t she seen it? All the signs had been there. Tom Walls was in love with Alyson Beaumont. He’d even – if she’d heard correctly – tried to help her win free of Fenderby. To come clean about the older man’s parasitic attentions.
It might have been at her urging – or maybe a misplaced gallantry – that had prompted him to misdirect police attention, refusing to acknowledge that Mina had not been near Fenderby’s office. For that matter, Tom had also been responsible for shelving the murder weapon – essentially muddying a crime scene and concealing evidence. Dulcie thought back to the afternoon she had found it, and how at the sight of the blood and gore on its binding, he had fainted dead away. Unless, it suddenly hit her, he hadn’t fainted at the sight of the book, but at her discovery of it.
‘I did it for you.’ The memory of that anguished cry rang again in her memory. But this time, Dulcie heard it as it had been – not through the filter of her own concern for Mina, of her own wishful thinking.
‘I did it for you,’ Tom had cried out. Filled with regret now, sure, but also with passion. And another scenario began to take shape in her mind. Tom had been in the library that morning, too. He always was. Only he was such a quiet young man, such a reliable worker, that nobody had questioned his presence or absence except as a witness.
Surely, Dulcie thought, the police must be considering the possibility. Detective Rogovoy must have at least wondered. But had any official ever seen the young man as he now stood in front of her? Broken, hurt – and angry?
An alternative narrative began to unfold before Dulcie. A narrative hidden from all others. Rejected, his frustrations compounded by his d
ifficulty in expressing his love, Tom might have struck out at his rival – at a man he knew was taking advantage of a young and vulnerable woman. The woman he loved. Alyson had been a fool, misguided and manipulated. But she had appeared honestly bereft at Fenderby’s death. Tom Walls would have no such regrets. All he had was a motive for murder.
‘I heard what you said.’ He was speaking, forming each word carefully as he turned back toward her. ‘About the library.’
‘What I …?’ He must have heard her talking to Mina, but she’d been intentionally vague. Hadn’t she? She didn’t want to get her cousin in any more trouble.
‘It’s not what you think,’ he said, stepping closer. ‘What you’re saying.’
‘I didn’t say anything,’ Dulcie responded, unsure what she was defending herself against. ‘Just that it’s interesting.’
‘No.’ He shook his head, the deep sadness now leaching into his voice. ‘I heard you. I saw you.’
From deep within her bag, Dulcie felt a vibration: her phone. She reached for the flap, only Tom was too quick for her. He had his hands on her bag. He was holding it.
‘Tom.’ Dulcie kept her voice level. Calm. She was not going to panic. ‘Let go of my bag, Tom.’
‘I can’t let you tell them.’ He choked the words out, his hand holding the bag shut. Inside, the phone buzzed like an angry bee. A muffled mew, as if Esmé herself was imprisoned there, followed.
‘The police know I’m here, Tom.’ It was a bluff, and as soon as the words were out, Dulcie regretted them.
‘You can’t.’ He shook his head, his despair written on his face. Inside her bag, the phone fell silent, and Tom let go, taking a step back. ‘It’s not her fault.’
‘Oh, Tom.’ Now that he was retreating, Dulcie was overwhelmed by the sadness of the situation. ‘You must have felt you were saving her.’
‘I would do it again.’ He stood up a little straighter, but his head hung low. He paused again, looking up at her. Willing her to understand. ‘She was so hurt.’