Into the Grey

by Clea Simon

  ‘I believe you already have,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, you mean cleaning the dish? That was nothing.’ Dulcie shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. ‘I just came to check on Alyson’s cat, and so I fed her.’

  ‘Her cat?’ The woman asked, her voice sounding strangely flat.

  ‘Yes.’ Dulcie felt a chill and began to look around. Something about the woman’s tone – though, surely, the little marmalade was still on the premises. ‘You didn’t see her when you came in. Did you?’

  ‘Why no.’ The voice cool.

  ‘She can’t have gotten out.’ Dulcie turned back toward the living room. ‘Penny! Penny!’

  ‘Why are you calling her that?’ Dulcie stood and turned, in time to see the widow dump the plate of cookies in her trash bag.

  ‘Wait.’ Dulcie reached out, not understanding. ‘Those were good cookies.’

  ‘You tasted them?’ The widow paused.

  ‘Well, yes.’ Dulcie admitted. ‘Just a bit.’

  ‘I made them,’ said the widow turning back to her task. The plate followed the cookies into the bag. Only when the widow began to spray cleanser on the counter did Dulcie realize that she was wearing plastic gloves.

  ‘You made the cookies?’ Dulcie knew she sounded like an idiot. Only, none of this was making sense. ‘And you’re here cleaning? You and Alyson were friends?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’ The widow turned and fixed her with a piercing glare. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘But why …’ Dulcie stopped, a horrible suspicion beginning to emerge. ‘What are you looking for, Mrs Fenderby?’

  ‘Why did you call that cat Penny?’ the widow countered. ‘I let her out on the balcony, by the way.’

  ‘You – what?’ Dulcie turned and raced toward the balcony. The sliding glass door was ajar, and she pushed it open. The kitten was nowhere to be seen. ‘Penny!’ Dulcie called, desperate. Steeling herself, she looked down – and saw nothing. Nothing but the dark green of shrubbery. Surely, if the kitten had tumbled from the edge, those bushes would have broken her fall. ‘Penny!’ she called again, heart racing.

  ‘Feeling a little woozy?’ The widow was behind her, and she whirled around. A mistake. The wave of dizziness that hit her made her grab at the railing.

  ‘I’ve been— I was ill,’ she explained. ‘And the height.’ Dulcie took a deep breath, hoping to dismiss the queasiness. ‘You didn’t leave her out here. Did you?’

  The woman standing in the opened doorway simply smiled.

  ‘Penny?’ Dulcie turned and had to close her eyes as another wave of nausea swept over her.

  ‘Pretty Penny.’ The voice behind her took on a sing-song quality. ‘She was his latest, but I was the original.’

  ‘Penny.’ Dulcie made herself turn. Made herself open her eyes. ‘That’s you – Polly, Penelope. Penny. I forgot you were one of his students originally.’

  ‘I was his wife.’ She spit out the last word, and Dulcie stepped back against the railing. That’s when she saw the knife in Polly Fenderby’s gloved hand.

  FORTY-SIX

  If she weren’t so dizzy, it would all make sense. The knife – and the poppy-seed lemon loaf Dulcie had sliced with it only two days before. The woman – a wife, a former student. The sickness that made her grab the low railing at her back.

  ‘The cake …’ The nausea subsided, only to be followed by a cold sweat as Dulcie realized what was happening. ‘You poisoned it. That’s why I got sick. Why Alyson fainted.’

  Polly Fenderby was smiling again as she took a step forward. ‘That will teach both of you to help yourselves to others’ treats.’

  ‘Others?’ It must be the sickness. Dulcie couldn’t make sense of any of this.

  ‘That wasn’t for her. That was never for her.’ Another step, the knife raised. ‘She took it. I gave him everything.’

  Dulcie closed her eyes again. Fenderby’s history of sickness. The devoted wife who cared for him. It was – no, it was worse than any novel she had read. And then it hit her: Polly Fenderby had signed her work. ‘The note,’ she said, her voice a croak. ‘In the foil wrapper. That’s why I thought … the kitten.’

  ‘He was done with her, you know.’ Polly Fenderby sounded so sure. So sane. ‘I could tell I was his little flower, his Penny again. His pretty Penny, only they wouldn’t let up. She and that other girl – the redhead – she wanted it all.’

  ‘No.’ Dulcie was sweating. She was sick, but the certainty steadied her more than the railing cold against her back. ‘No, Alyson didn’t take your cake. Fenderby gave it to her. He didn’t want it. Maybe he figured it out – all the treats, all the illness. Maybe he thought that his paunch was holding him back, stopping him from getting …’ She broke off to catch her breath.

  ‘Only he didn’t want anything from you. Not any more.’ She tried to swallow. Her mouth was filling with saliva, but her throat felt swollen. Numb. ‘He told you. That was the yelling Tom heard, even if he couldn’t hear well enough to make out the words. You were the guest visitor Thomas Griddlehaus didn’t see. But how …’

  She paused, her breathing labored, still stymied by one question.

  ‘You saw her leave that morning. She must have been upset. Crying. You knew he was done with her.’ Dulcie pieced it together, her voice barely a whisper. ‘And nobody thought … the guard must have waved you in, just like he waved me …’ Dulcie looked up at the widow. The former student. The familiar face fading with time. ‘The cops will figure it out, you know. They won’t just look at the card reader. They’re talking to the guards. They’ll find out you were there. They might have already.’

  ‘Why should they when they have a confession?’ Polly Fenderby’s voice had sunk to a hiss. ‘When the murderer has already OD’d out of guilt?’

  ‘But she’s alive.’ Dulcie had to force her eyes open. She leaned back on the railing, doing her best to fight the dizziness. The fatigue. ‘The neighbor found her in time. And I’ll tell them the truth.’

  ‘You’re another drug-addled student.’ The widow’s voice sounded like it was coming from very far away. ‘On academic probation, unable to complete her dissertation. Another suicide.’

  ‘The cookies.’ Dulcie fought to stay awake.

  ‘What cookies?’ That voice, right in her ear. ‘There are no cookies.’ The clammy feel of a yellow plastic glove on her shoulder. The blade at her throat. The railing cold through her shirt. She was so dizzy.

  ‘Dulcie!’ Mr Grey calling her. The prick of claws like a slap on her face. Urging her to wake. To rouse. To move.

  She couldn’t.

  ‘Look what I found!’ A voice from the past. She had been calling to Suze, fishing out a wet, bedraggled stray. His long grey fur plastered to his shivering body. ‘Look at this little girl.’

  No, that was wrong. Not a female …

  ‘What’s going on?’ Polly Fenderby stepped away, and Dulcie fell forward – nearly colliding with the grey-haired neighbor who stood at the sliding door. Holding the marmalade kitten. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘She’s fine.’ Polly Fenderby already had her arms up to urge the neighbor off the deck – out of the apartment.

  ‘Mrow!’ With a panicked howl, the kitten pulled herself free, climbing up the neighbor’s shoulder and leaping back into the apartment only to come to a skittering halt as the door opened inward to reveal a large, lumpy figure.

  ‘Detective Rogovoy!’ Dulcie wasn’t sure if she said the words or only thought them, as she fell forward on to her knees. What she did know was that the hands reaching for her, helping her into the apartment and on to the couch, were not gloved.

  ‘Call for an ambulance.’ The detective’s ordinarily gruff voice was high-pitched and tight.

  ‘Ma’am.’ Another man speaking somewhere behind him. ‘You’ll have to come with me, ma’am.’

  ‘Dulcie, hang in there.’ The voice was gruff, but comforting, and Dulcie smiled as she drifted off, the warm purr of the kitten by her
side.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  ‘His wife was poisoning him?’ Chris was having trouble taking it all in. ‘She had been poisoning him all along?’

  ‘Yes, Chris.’ Dulcie lay back and closed her eyes. She’d been over this several times already, and still Chris found it hard to accept.

  Mina hadn’t been as incredulous. She’d come by as soon as visitors were allowed, joining Chris at Dulcie’s bedside. But she and Dulcie had quickly moved on from the Fenderbys’ saga to what Dulcie called her ‘real news’ – her find in the Mildon. The altered page and all that it implied.

  ‘My daughter,’ Mina had breathed the words back to her. ‘Yes,’ she had said. ‘That was what I thought I saw, too. So, she was writing about her own life – about a child of her own.’ They had clasped hands then, both excited about the possibility of finally tracing the lineage of the author they both loved.

  Mina had left with the promise that she’d wait. The two of them would go back to the Mildon as soon as Dulcie was released – as soon as she’d confirmed Professor Showalter on her committee. This was a project they would work on together, a work that concerned all three.

  Chris, however, was still caught up in the more recent affair. That Fenderby had been murdered by his wife after years of slow poisoning wasn’t something his logical mind could easily encompass.

  Dulcie had had time to figure it all out, lying here in the health services. ‘I think she would poison him,’ she explained. ‘She used the plants from her garden, and then nursed him back to health. Maybe that kept him dependent and grateful, or maybe it was simply a way for her to express her anger over all his affairs. About all the money he spent, and the risks he took with his livelihood – their livelihood.’

  ‘You’d think he’d have suspected.’ Chris sounded doubtful, but Dulcie shook her head. She’d slept most of yesterday and had spent this morning puzzling out what had happened. Her own blood tests had showed the presence of scillitoxin and lycorine, found in daffodil bulbs.

  ‘I don’t think so. I don’t think he thought much about her at all any more,’ she said, struggling to sit up. ‘I don’t think he’d have given the poppy-seed cake to Alyson if he had any qualms.’ She leaned over to address Chris, who had jumped up to examine the controls for adjusting the bed. ‘He was simply discarding it, like he discarded her affection. Only, she found out.’

  ‘And if she wouldn’t play along …’ Chris didn’t have to finish the thought. His tone said it all, even facing away from her as he fetched the extra pillows from the closet.

  In that moment, a terrible thought came to Dulcie. ‘Chris, it was my fault,’ she said.

  He turned, but before he could argue, she explained. ‘I went to talk to him. I saw Polly. She thought that I was the student who had sued him – the reason the university had Rogovoy put a task force together. I bet that’s why she went back to confront him after Alyson and Griddlehaus left. I bet that’s why she killed him.’

  ‘You can’t know that, Dulce.’ Her boyfriend’s voice was sad.

  ‘The horrible part is that he probably was ending his affair with Alyson.’ Dulcie leaned forward to allow him to fit the pillow behind her, as she thought about the tragedy of it all. ‘Especially with Rogovoy’s team investigating him. With the threat of censure or even being put on leave, it was all more motivation for him to move on. Or move back, really. He would have gone back to Polly.’

  ‘Yeah, but there would have been someone else. If not here, then at some other college. Someplace would’ve taken him, and he’d have kept on preying on his students. There’d be another victim.’ Something in Chris’s voice made Dulcie look up at him. ‘There always is with guys like that.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She took his hand. ‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t know.’

  When Trista came by a little later, Chris excused himself to seek out some breakfast.

  ‘Now that nobody’s worried about her, they’re just kind of ignoring her,’ he said to their friend, as he ceded the guest chair. ‘I’ll see if I can find anyone to talk about releasing her. Might take me a while, though.’

  ‘He’s a sweetheart.’ Trista watched him go, her voice uncharacte‌ristically soft. ‘He knows. Doesn’t he?’

  ‘Some of it,’ acknowledged Dulcie as the slight blonde pulled her chair closer. ‘Not all.’

  The two sat in silence for a moment, while Trista looked at everything but her friend’s face. Finally, Dulcie reached for her hand. ‘Tris, why didn’t you tell me? You could have, you know.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Trista shook her head without raising it. Even her nose ring looked more subdued today. ‘I just felt so stupid.’

  ‘You aren’t,’ said her friend with emphasis, holding her hand tightly. ‘You weren’t. You were vulnerable, and he was an experienced predator.’

  ‘Experienced manipulator, that’s for sure.’ Trista didn’t pull back, not much. But her eyes were still lowered, as if the hem of the bed sheet were the most fascinating thing in the world. Sensing that her friend was gathering her courage, Dulcie waited, and the two sat in silence for another minute.

  ‘At first, you know, I was flattered.’ Trista let out an exhalation that was half laugh, half sigh. ‘Can you believe it? God, I was stupid. It was the beginning of the year – last fall. I’d been struggling. Things with Jerry were strained, and it’s so weird to not be a degree candidate any more. I have the post doc, but that ends next year and if I don’t find …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘Anyway, I’d been looking. Talking to people who could recommend me. Pull some strings. You know, and Fenderby had been out for a few weeks – one of those “attacks” he had – and then when he came back, he seemed to really take an interest. Actually gave me some work, helping him catch up, drawing some connections between his area – the political writings – and the fiction of the time. I mean, I know that’s your area, Dulce, but, well, I was grateful for the work. Of course, he suggested that I not tell you. That I not tell anyone exactly what I was doing for him.’ Another sigh. ‘I was so gullible.

  ‘He played up the sickness, too.’ She shook her head, remembering. ‘He told me how he’d felt so weak and vulnerable. How his spirits were so low, and how he really looked forward to our meetings as proof that he was still competent.’ Another laugh.

  ‘He saw right through me. If he’d come on tough or smooth or … I don’t know, if he’d tried to wow me, I’d have kicked him to the curb. I’m used to guys like that. But here he was, telling me how low he felt. How he relied on me to cheer him up, at the same time, isolating me. The next thing I knew, he was telling me that I helped him more than his wife ever had. That he loved me. He said our meetings were the one bright spot in his day.’

  ‘You were his bright, shiny penny.’ Dulcie kept her voice soft.

  Still, Trista heard her. ‘Yeah, that’s what he said. And then he tried to kiss me. And I—’ She broke off and shook her head.

  ‘You don’t have to go on,’ Dulcie reassured her.

  ‘No, I do.’ Trista’s voice was sounding stronger. ‘I was just so shocked. I guess I shouldn’t have been, but at the time … I felt guilty. I let him.’

  She fell silent. ‘Afterward, I felt sick. And I got angry. I told him I was going to report him. I was gathering my papers, my books, and he started yelling at me. I was the one who had come on to him. I was trying to use him to get a position, a recommendation. I had manipulated him.’

  She looked Dulcie squarely in the eye now. ‘I believed him, Dulcie. I blamed myself, and I kept quiet. I stopped working for him, but that was it. And by the time I realized how he’d set me up, I vowed I’d never let that happen to anyone else. I was so furious! That’s when I started going to the counseling center. And then Mina came in for a support group, and I found out what he’d tried with her.

  ‘And so when Mina told me what she’d found – her discovery in the Mildon – I was so proud of her. She wasn’t scared of him. She wasn’t going to be chased
out of the library. Only, I ran into him the next day, and I–I couldn’t resist.’

  Trista’s voice dropped down again. ‘I told him. Not in detail, but that she had found something in the Mildon. That no matter what he thought, he couldn’t break her. Couldn’t break any of us. I guess I envied her. She said no. She refused him, and she was on her way to doing better work than he ever would – in his field, too. I wanted to hurt him, but I ended up hurting her – and you too.

  ‘You know Mina came to see me that morning. She left the library because I was having a panic attack.’ Trista looked up at Dulcie, who could only nod. ‘She’s a peer counselor with the center. That’s why she wouldn’t tell anybody, though I’d have come forward if things got serious. But we worried you, I know, and I’m sorry. If she had been there – at her carrel … Who knows? Maybe his wife wouldn’t have gone back.’

  Dulcie shook her head. ‘Or maybe she’d have attacked Mina,’ she said. ‘But Fenderby’s career was over. The task force was on to him. The evidence was piling up. He might have negotiated with the university to keep things quiet – that’s how the university prefers it too – but they were maneuvering him out. I bet that’s why he wanted to be on my committee.’ She laughed, a rather humorless chuckle. ‘That’s what it was, I think – the fear of losing the job, the status, and the money – that finally pushed his wife over the edge. I wonder what will happen to her?’

  Dulcie thought back to that morning, only two days before. She’d been so sick, the memory was hazy. Still, she shivered.

  ‘I kind of feel bad for her,’ Trista admitted. ‘The affairs, and all the money he was spending on Alyson.’

  Dulcie nodded, remembering. The little garden had been so beautiful and lush. And so much smaller than the ones in the photos. ‘Still …’

  The friends fell silent at that, but it was a companionable quiet. And when Chris reappeared – with a paper bag imprinted with a familiar logo – Trista popped up with an alacrity she’d been lacking before.