Shadows on the Ivy

by Lea Wait

  “Are you sure this is what you want to do, Max? Throw these poor students, who are already scared and nervous, out on the street? With their children?”

  “That’s exactly what I want to do. Dorothy Whitcomb talked me into this crazy program. She said it was the right thing to do. That Somerset College would be respected for it. Well, those students have been here a little over two months, and we have reporters and photographers swarming all over our campus asking, ‘How could it happen here?’ I want to make sure it never happens again.” Max stood up again. “Maggie, I want Whitcomb House empty by Friday afternoon. I don’t care how you do it.”

  “Max…”

  “And I don’t want to hear any sentimental reasons why it shouldn’t be done. Whitcomb House was a mistake. As intelligent, educated human beings, we know mistakes can’t be erased. But they can be corrected. And I want this situation corrected. Now.”

  Maggie turned and started for the door, her mind spinning. At the door she turned around. “But, Max—”

  “That’s it! No discussion. My decision is made! And if you can’t take care of this, then you can look for another job at some college where insubordination isn’t taken seriously.” Max’s round face was red and his eyes bulging.

  “Max, I can’t—”

  “And what do you want?” Max yelled at someone behind Maggie. She turned. It was Claudia.

  “President Hagfield, Professor Summer, please don’t be upset, but I wanted you to know as soon as possible. I must have been in the cafeteria, and no one was in any of the offices. Mr. Turk found it. But I called the police. It’s just awful. On top of everything else that has happened. I’m so sorry. But I thought you both should know as soon as possible.”

  “Claudia, what happened?” Maggie put her hand on the woman’s arm to try to calm her.

  “Who’s been hurt—or killed—this time?” Max asked, coming toward them.

  “No one’s been hurt, President Hagfield. Not that I know of. It’s Maggie’s office. It’s been trashed.”

  Chapter 28

  Human Head. Lithographed cutaway of a man’s head, painted by Holmes W. Merton, 1912. The top layer of the lithograph shows the skull, nerves, veins, and arteries. That layer lifts to reveal the interior nerves, sinuses, upper spinal cord; and finally, the third layer illustrates the sections of the brain and bones of the skull. From a medical textbook published in 1913 by I. W. Wagner. 6.25 x 7.75 inches. Price: $100.

  Max stayed in his office, no doubt stewing, but Maggie and Claudia ran to the American Studies department. Paul was standing off to one side. He’d run his hand back through his hair, leaving it standing up in a manner far from its usual careful arrangement.

  Two policemen were standing in the door of Maggie’s office. Not Luciani and Newton this time, she noted. Thank goodness. At least her office didn’t merit the attention of homicide detectives.

  “What happened?” she asked, trying to look between the two of them. Their bulk filled most of the doorway, but not enough for her to miss the condition of her office. She gasped. “When? Who?”

  In the little over an hour since Maggie had left her office, it appeared to have been hit by a tornado. Her file cabinet drawers, which she had neglected to lock, had been opened, and the files randomly tossed on the floor. Student papers that had been on her desk were now on the floor, along with the contents of her wastebasket, which had been overturned. Most of the books in her ceiling-high bookcases had been dumped. Her snake plant was upside down, the dirt creating a small hill on top of student papers. Uncle Sam was happily scratching in the dirt, scattering small stones and pieces of leaves and roots in various directions. The center drawer of Maggie’s desk was open, and the half-empty can of diet cola she’d left on the desk had been poured into the drawer and on top of the papers on the floor.

  Thank goodness none of my portfolios were here, Maggie thought. “Oh…hell.” Maggie squeezed her way between the two officers. Her Currier & Ives Maggie had been taken off the wall and hit or kicked so that the glass was broken. She picked it up and looked at it carefully. Luckily, the streams of cola had not gotten this far. The frame was damaged, and the glass was broken, but the print was intact. Maggie hugged it to her chest, as though that would make a difference. Then she turned to the policemen.

  “Assuming you’re Professor Summer,” the taller of the officers asked, “can you tell if anything is missing? Were there any valuables in here?”

  “Nothing of value to anyone but me,” answered Maggie quietly. She looked around again. Had someone been looking for something? Tiffany’s briefcase! She made her way through the mess to the back of her desk and saw marks, maybe from a knife, around the lock to the drawer she’d hidden the briefcase in. But the drawer remained locked. “My drawer holding student records,” she explained. “Someone tried to get into it, but it’s okay.” She looked at the police, and at Paul and Claudia, who were standing helplessly outside her office door. “Didn’t anyone see anything? How did this happen in the middle of the day?”

  “Everyone was out. Mr. Turk found it when he got back from lunch. Your secretary arrived just after him. She called campus security and us.”

  “Maggie, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine who would have done this to you! And with Tiffany and Sarah, and everyone being so cautious just now, I thought we had to call someone!” Claudia looked at her. “I should have been here. Usually I eat my lunch at my desk, but today I needed to get away from the phones. I went to the cafeteria. And look what happened!”

  “Maybe it’s just as well you weren’t here. Whoever tossed the office must have been pretty angry,” said the policeman closest to Claudia. “Professor Summer, can you guess who might have done this? Anyone you’ve had trouble with recently? A student you gave a low grade to?”

  “I wish I could think of someone.” Maggie looked around her devastated office, still holding her print. “If it was one of my students, that student had better drop my class. Now!” She attempted a smile. “I suppose a student might be looking for papers, or records. Something might be missing. But it will take days to sift through everything.”

  “A student might be looking for your grade book.”

  “That’s the drawer I checked first. It’s still locked.” And still holding Tiffany’s briefcase.

  “You’re sure you can’t think of anyone?”

  “I have no idea. I’ve been so busy with Whitcomb House, and with my business, and my classes…but there haven’t been any personal problems recently.”

  “No threatening notes or e-mails or phone calls?”

  Maggie shook her head.

  “Wait—you said you’ve been busy with Whitcomb House?” The taller policeman was paying attention. “What do you have to do with that situation?”

  Maggie sighed and kept looking at her office. It would take hours, maybe days, before she could get this straightened out. Hours and days she didn’t have. Someone had violated her space. The shock began to wear off, and she felt her anger growing. “Don’t you people compare notes? I’ve already talked to Detectives Newton and Luciani about Whitcomb House. Twice in the past two days!”

  “It might be important,” said the cop nearest to her, gently, trying to keep her calm. He was holding one of those black notebooks they must issue along with badges.

  “I’m the adviser to the students at Whitcomb House.” Or at least to the students who thought they lived at Whitcomb House, Maggie reminded herself. She still had to deal with Max Hagfield’s latest inspiration. How had she ended up in the middle of this whole mess? Why did everyone count on her to make things right? Students; Dorothy; Max; and now she had this disaster to cope with. Even if someone was looking for something…even if they were looking for the briefcase…why would they go to the trouble and take the time to trash her office?

  The two policemen took a few notes and then conferred in the hallway. Claudia took advantage of their leaving Maggie’s doorway to remove Uncle Sam, who meowed plaintive
ly as she took him away from the lovely pile of dirt and snake plant leaves on Maggie’s floor.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie. I went for lunch and I didn’t see anything, and then when I came back…” Paul shook his head. “Who would do this to you?” He moved closer to her, as though to touch her arm.

  “I don’t need your sympathy, Paul!” He was trying to be understanding, but what she needed was for everyone to leave her alone. Life had turned into a kaleidoscope; events were happening too fast for her to think them through logically. She depended on logic to keep her life in focus.

  Nothing was in focus right now.

  The shorter policeman returned. “Professor Summer, when something like this happens, we usually assume it’s some sort of prank, or a student who’s upset because you didn’t give them the grade they felt they deserved. But in light of your connection with Whitcomb House, we’d better dust for fingerprints. We’ll share our notes with Detectives Luciani and Newton, just in case there’s some connection between the two situations.”

  Maggie nodded, concentrating on not falling apart in front of the police and her colleagues. She felt light-headed and confused. She’d always been so capable, so organized. She’d been able to cope with Sarah’s illness, and even with Tiffany’s death. But right now she felt like screaming. This time the attack was personal.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave your office for now. We’ll close it off. There is a key, right?”

  Maggie sighed. If only she’d used that key before she left to do her errands! But faculty office doors were often left unlocked, and even open, during the day. She tried to remember to lock hers at night, and sometimes didn’t even do that. She wouldn’t forget again.

  “You can use my office if you need to make any calls,” Paul said. “Until you can get back into yours.” He turned to the police. “How long will you need?”

  “By tomorrow morning she should be able to get back in and clean up.”

  “Tomorrow morning I’ll help you, Maggie. If you’ll let me,” Paul said, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

  Maggie looked at him numbly. “I’ll take you up on the offer to use your telephone.” She couldn’t do anything here now. But maybe she could still help Kendall, Maria, Kayla, and Heather. She’d call Dorothy. If anyone could convince Max to reconsider the fate of Whitcomb House, it would be Dorothy. Or Oliver.

  Chapter 29

  Carnivora: Gray Wolf, Coyote, Jackal, Red Wolf, Prairie Wolf, White Wolf, Black Wolf. Chromolithograph, 1880, by Henry I. Johnson for natural-history book on classifications of animals. Seven animals in generic grassy location, showing differences between species. 7 x 9.5 inches. Price: $55.

  “In addition to this mess, now there’s another problem related to Whitcomb House,” Maggie said as she joined Paul in his office while the policemen called for a unit to dust for fingerprints in hers. “I just came from Max’s office. He’s overreacting; he wants to close Whitcomb House. This week. He told me to get the four remaining students and their children out.”

  If they left, Maggie thought, then where would Aura go? In a moment she knew the answer. Aura would go home with her. That’s what Sarah would want. And Sarah could come to stay with her, too, when—if—she got out of the hospital. She had extra bedrooms. “Max thinks closing Whitcomb House will end the negative publicity.”

  Paul snorted. “That’s ridiculous. He really thinks throwing four students and their kids out on the street will solve the problem?”

  “That’s exactly what he thinks. He ordered me to tell them to be out by Friday afternoon. Although he did agree they could continue attending classes here.”

  “And live where? From what you said the other night, those aren’t young people who can just move home and live with mommy and daddy and commute to college. They’re adults, and Whitcomb House is their only home.”

  Maggie nodded. “For the most part. Tiffany had parents in South Jersey. I assume they’ll take Tyler, thank goodness. And Maria’s family isn’t too far away, so she might be able to move in with someone. But I don’t think the others have any place they could go on a couple of days’ notice.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Talk to Dorothy and have Dorothy talk to Oliver. They’re the only people who might be able to convince Max to change his mind. Even if he feels strongly, their donations to the college—or lack thereof—might make the difference. And Whitcomb House is a project Dorothy strongly supports.”

  Paul nodded. “You’re right. But they’re not at their home right now. It’s been closed as a crime scene.”

  And Oliver might have been having an affair with Tiffany, whose briefcase was locked in the file drawer of her desk. Who could have known Maggie had it? She wished she could get it now, but too many people were watching. She was the only one who knew for sure that she had it, and she couldn’t trust anyone. Certainly Dorothy or Oliver wouldn’t have come to her office and created that mess. Although Oliver could have hired someone to do it…. “Do you know where they’re staying?”

  “At the Somerset Hotel. They took a room for a couple of days until all this can be sorted out. Oliver called this morning to tell me. They’re very upset, of course.”

  “Of course.” Maggie picked up the phone.

  The call was put through to their room’s voice mail. “Hello, Dorothy and Oliver? Maggie Summer. I need your help for the students at Whitcomb House. It’s urgent. Call me. This afternoon if you can.” Maggie realized she wouldn’t be in her office. “Call me at my home. I’ll be working there.” And making lasagna, Maggie thought. She had to do something constructive, or she would scream.

  “They’re not in?” Paul asked.

  Maggie shook her head. “Maybe out for lunch. Paul, last night at dinner you implied Oliver had a relationship with one or more of the women at Whitcomb House. Do you know that for sure?”

  “I didn’t say that, Maggie.” He didn’t look at her directly and started sorting through piles of papers on his desk. “Oliver cares about the students there, of course, because they’re of special interest to Dorothy. I didn’t mean to imply there was anything improper about Oliver’s relationship to any of them. Oliver is a fine man. He wouldn’t do anything like that. Certainly not at Somerset College.”

  Could she have misunderstood? Maggie didn’t think so. Paul was drinking last night, but she couldn’t imagine him inventing such an allegation. And it had been an allegation. She was sure. Tiffany’s housemates had seemed pretty convinced she was having an affair with someone. If not Oliver, then who?

  Why wasn’t Paul telling her the whole truth? Whatever the reason, she wasn’t going to get it out of him now.

  “I’m exhausted. It’s been a difficult day, and I have a heavy week ahead of me. I’m going to go home and work there this afternoon. If anything happens that I should know about, please let me know, Paul.”

  “Aren’t you going to talk to the Whitcomb House students first?”

  “I’m not giving up yet. I’m not giving up until I hear Dorothy Whitcomb say there’s nothing she can do. In the meantime I don’t want to give those students anything else to be worried about. They’ve had an incredibly difficult past two days.”

  At home, Maggie put away the rest of the groceries, resisting the urge to slam the kitchen cabinet doors in frustration. She needed answers to too many questions. Winslow watched as she moved around the kitchen, clearly hoping her activity meant the possibility of extra treats for him. She found a small piece of leftover roast chicken in the refrigerator and he jumped to get it.

  No wonder people loved animals; they were so easy to please, and they loved back so simply. She reached down and scratched between Winslow’s ears. Clearly he would have preferred more chicken. Today it appeared she couldn’t even please him.

  Then she thought of her e-mail. Had Will sent her a message? She could use a hug, even if it was a cyber-hug.

  At least her home office was still in order. She tried not to thin
k of the mess she had left at the college. As the computer booted up, Maggie picked out a CD to play. Baroque music could be depended on.

  Dear friend,

  You’re probably busy grading midterms and counseling students and baking apple pies and matting Jessie Willcox Smith prints, but, when you have a moment, give a thought to your friend on the road. Weather in Ohio is still wet and cold. I slept in the RV last night. Saved motel expenses, but missed a hot shower this morning. I have a list of antique barns and shops to check out today. Remember the ones we searched in Maine last summer? I did find a nice set of devil andirons yesterday…the devils’ mouths are open and designed so flames will show through. Very ferocious, and I’m tempted to keep them myself. The perpetual lure of the perfect antique. Fortunately for my budget I suspect I can get a good price for these and can’t afford not to sell them. Unless you have any prints of devils, and we could plan a room around them. Take pity on a cold and lonely traveler, and write soon. I miss you. And I hope that student of yours is feeling much better. She’s lucky to have you to care about her.

  Will

  Maggie smiled and clicked REPLY.

  Dear Will,

  So glad you have company, even if the friend is a devil of a guy. He should be able to add some warmth to your days. And nights. Unfortunately I have no prints of devils. No apple pies either, but right now I’m heading into the kitchen to make an enormous pan of lasagna. Gussie and Jim are arriving tomorrow night, late, and will be here through the weekend. Wish you were here, too. My student is still in the hospital. No changes there. Although there are a lot of things happening on campus, so I’m running a bit. Smiling west, in the general direction of Ohio—