Shadows on the Ivy

by Lea Wait

  “I don’t know. Kayla was upset, and the children were crying. When I find out more, I’ll let you know. The police will have to figure it out.”

  “How awful. Two of the girls in fluke accidents in the same week! It’s a nightmare.”

  As she put down the phone, Maggie realized she had better make one more call. To Max Hagfield. If she was lucky, she’d reach him before the police did.

  He answered on the first ring.

  “Max? Good morning, this is Maggie Summer.”

  “It’s just after six! I call that dawn, not morning! Couldn’t whatever this is wait until I’m in my office?”

  “I’m sorry, but, no, Max.”

  “Is it the Anderson girl? Has she died?” Max’s voice quavered. “That’s all I need. The murder of one of my best students in the Whitcomb experimental program, in the home of one of Somerset College’s trustees.”

  Maggie’s temper flared. Should she apologize for Sarah’s rude behavior? If Sarah was going to be poisoned, why couldn’t she have arranged to do it somewhere other than at the Whitcombs’! Clearly, in Max’s mind, she had been inconsiderate, to say the least. “No; it’s not Sarah. So far as I know her condition is unchanged.”

  Unchanged. In a coma. With a little daughter who was now doubly traumatized: her mother was ill and had seemingly left her, and the woman she had shared rooms with was dead. “It’s Tiffany Douglass. She’s dead.”

  The line was silent for a long moment. “Dead?” Max’s voice was low and deliberate. “Dead? Are you sure?”

  “Kayla just called me from Whitcomb House. They found Tiffany’s body in the kitchen early this morning. The police have been there, and I assume they’re looking into all possibilities, because of Sarah’s poisoning.”

  “How could this be happening to Somerset College?” Max’s voice trembled. “What are we going to tell The Star-Ledger?”

  Maggie couldn’t believe his first thought was of publicity. “Just tell the press you don’t know anything pending the result of the police investigation. That as soon as you do know something, you’ll announce it. That the Somerset College community expresses its deepest sympathy, to Tiffany Douglass’s family, and, especially, to her young son.”

  “Do the police think she was murdered?”

  “I don’t know, Max. But it doesn’t sound good right now. The Somerset College students are going to need you to provide as many answers as you can.”

  There was silence on the end of the telephone.

  “Maybe you should increase security on campus.” Why was she telling him how to do his job?

  But he jumped at the suggestion. “Yes. We could do that. Increased security. I’ll talk to our people, and to the police. They should all be working together.” Max had somewhat recovered his voice and control. “We made a major mistake in letting those single parents live on campus, Maggie. A major mistake. Many of them have led unstable lives. Who knows what criminals they’re attracting to our campus? We’ve already seen the result. But bringing them here is a mistake that can be corrected.”

  “Don’t do anything drastic, Max. Maybe there’s an explanation. Don’t give up on the students. They’re frightened and they need to be reassured. I’m going over to Whitcomb House now.”

  “That’s good, Maggie. And, Maggie, we’ve got to keep anything else from happening. I’m counting on you, Maggie. Remember—I’m counting on you.”

  Chapter 22

  Meriwether Lewis, Esq. Drawn by St. Manum Pine and engraved by Strictland for the Analectic Magazine and Naval Chronicle, 1815. Early engraving of Meriwether Lewis (1774–1809), wearing a fur hat and fringed, military-style jacket, holding his powder horn and musket. Lewis was stationed in various frontier posts and learned the language and customs of the Indians. Under the sponsorship of President Jefferson he led an expedition to the source of the Missouri River with his fellow officer William Clark, making a portage overland through the Rockies, and reaching the Pacific Ocean. His early death was controversial; it was either murder or suicide. Some light foxing. 5 x 8 inches. Price: $55.

  Maggie didn’t bother to knock; despite the November chill Whitcomb House’s front door was open, and although police cars were parked outside, no crime-scene tape prevented her entrance. She walked into the familiar front hall. The house looked like a scene in a TV crime drama.

  The kitchen was covered with dust—for fingerprinting, Maggie assumed—and a photographer was carefully focusing on every detail in the room. Detectives Luciani and Newton were sitting on the living room couch, bent low over a notebook on the coffee table in front of them. They probably hadn’t had much sleep lately. Newton’s hair needed combing, and Luciani looked as though he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days.

  Yesterday morning they were in my kitchen, Maggie thought. Yesterday was a long time ago.

  “Professor Summer?” Luciani looked up from his seat on the couch. He got up quickly and walked toward her. “What are you doing here?”

  “The students asked me to come. I’m their adviser.”

  “We don’t need any more people in this house,” he said, backing her against the wall in the hallway. “There are already enough fingerprints in here to keep the FBI busy for weeks.”

  “Not quite,” Newton said from the living room. “And you’re on the list of people we need to talk to. Since you’re here, you might as well stay. But come into the living room, please.”

  Luciani backed up, watching Maggie closely. She stepped by him. “Where are the students? And the children?”

  “Upstairs. We had them take the kids and get them dressed and calmed down. And away from the porch and kitchen. We’ve searched the upstairs already.”

  “I’d like to see them.” Maggie heard footsteps upstairs. How were they all coping?

  “In a few minutes.” Newton gestured for Maggie to sit on the couch in the spot recently vacated by Luciani. The binder on the table was closed, but Newton had her small black notebook out and pencil poised. Luciani sat on the chair opposite her.

  Maggie’d sat in that room on so many Monday evenings, enjoying the chaos and joy of the six adults and six children who lived here. This Tuesday morning the blocks and dolls and trucks piled in the corner were untouched. The television was off. No music from upstairs broke the silence. Whitcomb House had always felt so full of life and laughter. Now, with two of the young women gone, it seemed ghostlike. Although Sarah wasn’t really gone, Maggie corrected herself. Sarah would be back. She hoped.

  “I know we talked with you yesterday morning, but that investigation centered on Sarah Anderson.” Detective Newton’s question brought her back to the moment.

  Maggie nodded.

  “I assume that you’ve already heard we’re here in response to a call from the residents reporting the death of Tiffany Douglass.”

  “Kayla called to let me know.”

  “Because you’re their adviser.”

  “And, I hope, also their friend.” They could use friends this week, Maggie thought. A lot of friends.

  “You told us yesterday what you knew about Sarah Anderson. Could you tell us something about Tiffany Douglass? Or anything that might help us see if there’s a link between the crimes?”

  “It’s definite, then, that Tiffany was murdered?”

  The detectives looked at each other. Luciani shrugged. “We’ll know for certain after the medical examiner has taken a look at her. But the dark stains on her lips and mouth and the vomit make it look like some, possibly caustic, substance was involved.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry. I’m tired. I’d appreciate your not sharing that information. It isn’t official in any case. Not until the medical examiner has seen her.”

  “The students are pretty sharp. They seem to have figured it out even before we got here,” Newton said.

  “Of course, they were probably thinking of Sarah, too. Two young women poisoned in two days…are any of the other students in danger?” Maggie had to ask.

  Newton did
n’t smile. “We don’t know. At the moment everyone here is a suspect, and anything is possible. Have there been any threats to Whitcomb House or its residents that you’ve heard? From inside the house or outside?”

  Maggie shook her head. “Never. In fact, the house has gotten some very positive publicity and, so far as I know, has been accepted by the campus community and the town itself. Everyone who lived here seemed to get along.”

  “What about President Hagfield? Has he had any negative feedback about the house?”

  “You’d have to ask him. I don’t know of any.” The only negative comments Maggie had heard about Whitcomb House had come from Max himself, this morning. The police could find that out themselves.

  “We understand the two victims shared a suite here with their children. We’re assuming they were close friends. They might also have shared thoughts? Shared acquaintances?”

  “You’ll have to ask the other students about that. I do know they met before they came to Somerset College. They shared an apartment last summer. So they certainly knew each other. How many confidences or friends they shared, I don’t know.” Sarah was so quiet, Maggie thought. So different from Tiffany. And Tiffany wasn’t around that much. What had Tiffany been doing?

  “They came from different parts of New Jersey,” continued Newton. She stretched a bit, pulling down her navy jacket. Dark circles were under her eyes.

  Being a detective is a rough job, thought Maggie sympathetically. She told them what she knew. “Tiffany used to live in South Jersey. Outside of Atlantic City somewhere. She worked at a grocery store, I think she said, and the chain transferred her up here.” She paused. “Sarah might know more, of course.”

  “If—when—she comes out of her coma, we’ll be sure to talk with her. But in the meantime, any information you have would be helpful.” There was a small crash upstairs and a child’s wail. Detective Newton listened for a moment and smiled. “Six children living here with their parents! There must be some interesting days. I have trouble coping with one husband and one child.”

  Detective Luciani looked at her as though she had just mentioned landing on the moon. “We’ve got work to do. Today.”

  Maggie continued, “Tiffany lived here, and she was in one of my classes, but I didn’t know her as well as I do some of the other Whitcomb House residents. She seemed to have an active life, many friends. She wasn’t always here.” Or in class, Maggie added to herself.

  “Do you know any of her friends? Outside Whitcomb House.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “She has a little boy.”

  “Tyler is two.”

  “And his father? Do you know anything about him?”

  “No,” Maggie started. And then she remembered what Tiffany had said yesterday afternoon. “I believe he worked with her, or maybe he was her boss, at the supermarket where she worked in South Jersey. She told me he was married, and that she was asking him for child support for Tyler.” She had said suing him, actually.

  “Was that a problem?”

  “I don’t know. Just yesterday she told me she had a lawyer. Located in Princeton, she said.”

  “Do you know the name of Tyler’s father, or of Tiffany’s lawyer?”

  “She didn’t say.” Tiffany had suggested Sarah should ask for child support, too, thought Maggie.

  “So you talked with Tiffany Douglass yesterday?”

  “She made an appointment to see me at my office yesterday afternoon. You could check with my secretary, Claudia Hall, at the college. I think it was four o’clock.”

  “She came to the appointment on time?”

  “Yes. She was upset about Sarah’s illness. She talked about Sarah during most of the time she was with me.”

  “Did she seem concerned for her own safety?”

  “No. Nothing like that. She was just worried about Sarah. And about Aura. She didn’t indicate any concern for herself.”

  “So she didn’t seem to think whatever had happened to Sarah would happen to her?”

  “She never even hinted at that. And she had no ideas about who might have wanted to hurt Sarah. Tiffany seemed very capable of taking care of herself, not worried or afraid.” Unlike Kayla, on the telephone this morning, or Maria, who had been talking about leaving Whitcomb House and going home. Maggie needed to talk with them both. And with Heather and Kendall, too. “I really don’t have anything else to tell you. May I go and talk with the students now, please?” Maggie looked at her watch. Almost seven-thirty. “Most of them have classes this morning, and they need to get the children to day care.” Kayla was looking after Aura, but that was, they all hoped, a temporary situation. Who would watch Tyler now? What would happen to him? Would his married father from South Jersey get involved? Not likely.

  Chapter 23

  Beetles in a Flood. c. 1885. Chromolithograph of dozens of multicolored beetles of various sorts crawling up the stems and leaves of grasses and twigs, the bottoms of which have been submerged, perhaps by a heavy rain; water covers the meadow. Not all the beetles are safe…a hungry frog sits on a branch in the water, watching them climb above him. 6.5 x 10 inches, including margin. Price: $55.

  Maggie found the four remaining adult occupants of Whitcomb House sitting on the second floor near the top of the stairs, clearly listening to what was happening downstairs. She looked around. “Where are the children?”

  “A miracle. They’re all asleep in Kayla’s room. The past two days have been exhausting, and with all the excitement today they were up early,” Maria said. Maggie wondered whether she wore her nose ring twenty-four hours a day. It was in place this morning.

  “That is a miracle. How are they coping?”

  “Tyler is too little to understand about his mom; Aura’s taking it pretty hard. Her mother not here, and then finding Tiffany this morning. Mikey fell asleep out of pure exhaustion. He’s been asking questions nonstop since yesterday. Same for Katie. The two little ones probably won’t sleep for long. They know something’s different; they can sense how we’re reacting to everything, but they don’t understand enough of what’s happening to be upset about anything specific,” Kayla said.

  “What is happening, Professor Summer?” Kendall asked. “Are we in danger? Are the kids? Who’s doing this?”

  “We’ve already decided not to leave here today,” said Maria. “Not even to take the kids to day care or go to classes. We feel safe here. The police are in and out. And we trust each other.”

  Kayla nodded.

  Maggie sighed. “One day probably won’t make a difference to your grades or classes. Certainly your teachers will understand. If they don’t, you come and see me. But you can’t hide here forever.” And you’re all suspects, too, she added to herself. Maybe Whitcomb House is the most dangerous place of all.

  “We’ve been trying to put it together,” said Kayla. “Trying to think of anyone who really hated Sarah, or Tiffany, or both of them. Trying to figure out why they were poisoned.”

  “If they were poisoned,” said Kendall.

  “We know Sarah was,” said Heather. “And that dark color on Tiffany’s lips, and on her sweater…I’m sure she was poisoned, too, but she threw up some of it.”

  “Why didn’t I hear her? I usually hear when someone comes in. If she had called for help, I’d have come.” Kendall paced the small upstairs hall. “I’m a light sleeper. Anyone with a baby is. I heard the kitchen door open around two this morning. I assumed Tiffany was coming in—she comes in late all the time. I didn’t hear anything more, so I fell back to sleep.”

  “Kendall, you heard the door close at about two. And you and Kayla found Tiffany at about three-thirty, after Aura started crying, right?” Maggie wanted to make sure she had the time sequence correct.

  Kendall nodded and sat down on the floor again with the others.

  Kayla put her hand on his. “It’s all right, Kendall. She came in late so many nights. How could you have known this time she was in trouble?”

&nb
sp; “Tiffany was always trouble,” said Maria. “That would have been nothing new.”

  Maggie sat on the top step. “Why was Tiffany trouble?”

  The residents looked at each other, waiting for one of them to say something.

  “I know Tiffany skipped classes sometimes. I know she missed about half our Monday-night meetings.” Maggie took a guess: “I assumed she had a pretty active social life.”

  “If that’s what you want to call it,” said Kayla.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We might as well tell her what we know. It doesn’t matter anymore. We’ve covered up for her enough times.” Kayla looked at the others, some of whom slowly nodded. “It might make a difference for us, or for Sarah. We’ve got to let people know!”

  “Know what?” Maggie asked.

  “Tiffany had friends,” said Kayla. “Older, male friends. She used to get telephone calls from a man who wouldn’t leave his name. He’d just say, ‘Tiffany will know who this is.’”

  “Usually the calls were telling her to be someplace, at some time,” Maria said. “Usually at night.”

  Maggie listened. “Was she a call girl? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Maria shook her head. “I don’t think so. Nothing that organized. There was only one man—well, maybe two men—who called. And she did go out several evenings every week. As I say it, that might sound like she had a pimp. But she didn’t seem to have a lot of money or anything. And although she wore makeup and dressed up a bit, she didn’t look…well, not like a hooker, anyway. Or at least not what I think of as a hooker. I’ve never known one.”

  “I asked her about the calls once. She said she was making a life for herself and Tyler. That she was investing for the future,” Heather said.

  “‘Investing for her future’? It didn’t look as though she was dating a stockbroker or anything,” said Kendall. “Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t giving her advice on the market. Although he did give her that fancy briefcase she carried her school papers in. Like she thought she was an executive or something!”