Shadows on the Ivy

by Lea Wait

  Maggie was puzzled. “I didn’t know a special committee determined who was offered Whitcomb House residencies and scholarships. I assumed that was done through the Admissions Office.”

  “Officially, yes. And then it’s administered by the college president. But a small group of people consult on the decisions of the Admissions Office about those particular scholarship students. Bluntly, Maggie, since Oliver and I were putting up the money, we wanted to be sure we had some input about who received the scholarships.”

  Of course. That’s how Sarah and Tiffany, who were roommates, had both been offered scholarships. It was beginning to make sense. “Sarah told Tiffany she was approached by someone at the diner where she worked, who told her about the program.”

  Dorothy shrugged slightly. “I had someone from the Admissions Office talk with her. The program was designed to help girls like Sarah.”

  “And now?” Maggie questioned. “That won’t be happening in the future?”

  “No. Max was quite clear about that.” Dorothy put down her salad fork. “Actually, since Sarah was the only one I was specifically interested in, it doesn’t really matter. I know the Admissions Office will select outstanding candidates.”

  “Do the current Whitcomb House students know of your role in their admission?”

  “I don’t think so. And Max has promised that no changes made now will affect the students who are already in the program. I think the house and its future are secure.”

  “Thank goodness! That is a relief, Dorothy,” Maggie said, after another bite of pizza. “I was really concerned that Max might not change his mind. So—are you and Oliver still at the hotel?”

  “No! The police left our house late yesterday, and we went right home. I’m not convinced our moving out was worth all the aggravation; I haven’t heard that the police have made any progress in identifying whoever poisoned the girls, so they probably didn’t find anything at our home.”

  “I just saw Detectives Newton and Luciani. They have some ideas they’re going to pursue.”

  “Oh? Where did you see them?” Dorothy sipped her iced tea. Her hand tightened around her glass.

  “In my office. Did Oliver or Max or Paul tell you my office was pulled apart by someone looking for a briefcase that belonged to Tiffany?”

  “No.” Dorothy put down the glass. “I’m so sorry, Maggie. I didn’t hear that. Whatever did they think was in the briefcase?”

  Maggie was torn. She didn’t want to tell Dorothy something that would hurt her, but Dorothy was going to find out soon anyway. Paul was down at the station now. “They have the contents now. There were photographs. Graphic photographs of Tiffany with her lover. The police think she may have been blackmailing him. He wanted to stop her. And destroy the pictures.” Maggie watched closely, but Dorothy seemed strangely calm.

  “And her lover actually went to your office to look for them? Why would he ever have thought to look there?” Dorothy’s voice was cautious. Maggie wondered how much she really did know.

  “Tiffany had been in my office Monday afternoon, just hours before she was murdered. Dorothy, I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, but the pictures were of Tiffany and Oliver,” Maggie said quickly. “Oliver asked Paul to look for the photos in my office. He thought she might have left her briefcase there. And she had.”

  “Oliver asked Paul to do that? How clumsy of him,” said Dorothy evenly. “That put Paul in a very awkward position.”

  Had Dorothy heard her? Maggie watched her face. “Dorothy—Oliver was having an affair with Tiffany.”

  “I know.” Dorothy looked back at her calmly. “No, that’s not strictly true, Maggie. I didn’t know for sure that this time it was Tiffany. Oliver has so many affairs. But I suspected Tiffany was the one.”

  “How can you be so calm? Didn’t you care? Your husband was sleeping with another woman!”

  “I cared. Of course I cared. But I’m very conventional, Maggie. Oliver likes some activities that are not of interest to me. So he finds other women to play with. He isn’t looking for love or commitment. He knows he has that with me.”

  Maggie had expected tears, screams, threats. Not this.

  Dorothy looked at Maggie and smiled. “Don’t be horrified. Oliver and I are very happy together. Our life is much simpler if we can concentrate on our relationship without cluttering it with behavior that just isn’t to my taste. We don’t talk about it a lot. But we both know what’s happening. I told you we had separate friends, Maggie!”

  “You’ve always known about his affairs.”

  “Yes; of course. Very few wives don’t know when their husband is being unfaithful. But I know in Oliver’s case it’s only his body that’s unfaithful, not his heart or mind.”

  Maggie thought too quickly of Michael, and of what she had not known about his behavior. Was she the only one who hadn’t known? Was she the only wife who hadn’t sensed what was happening? Was she so uninvolved with him that…But the issue today was Dorothy and Oliver.

  “Dorothy, if you knew about Oliver’s affairs, then Tiffany wouldn’t have been able to blackmail him by threatening to tell you about their relationship.”

  “Heavens, no. I would have laughed in her face. If she wanted to endure all of what he liked to do…that was her problem. It certainly wasn’t a threat to me.”

  “And what about Sarah? Was he having an affair with Sarah?”

  Dorothy paled. “No. He couldn’t have. Wouldn’t have. I can’t even think about that, Maggie. Tiffany, yes. There were signs. She always made a point of talking to him at our gatherings, and the way she dressed…but—Sarah? I can’t believe that of Sarah.”

  “But Sarah was poisoned. And so was Tiffany.” But with different poisons, Maggie thought. Why would one person use two different poisons?

  “Which is why the police need to get their act together and consider all the possibilities,” said Dorothy.

  “The police suspect Oliver poisoned at least Tiffany. Because of the photographs.”

  “That’s ridiculous! Why would Oliver kill some girl just because she was stupid enough to think she could get some money out of him by having photographs taken? Oliver would never have done that.” Dorothy shook her head. “He has some unconventional tastes, but murder isn’t one of them. I’m sure of that. Do you really think they’re considering Oliver a serious suspect?”

  “They have Paul down at the station. They seem to think he may have poisoned the girls as a favor to Oliver. But that Oliver was in back of it all. If he isn’t the murderer, then who is?” Maggie had to know what Dorothy would say.

  “I have no idea,” said Dorothy. “But I’m sure it isn’t Oliver, and I thought Paul was brighter than that. But the police will figure that out. They wouldn’t accuse an innocent man.” She picked up her tray. “I’m going to the hospital to sit with Sarah; with all this focus on Tiffany’s murder, no one is thinking about my daughter.”

  “Wait, Dorothy.” Maggie put her hand on Dorothy’s arm. “I think you’re right. I don’t think Oliver killed Tiffany. But I need your help in proving it.”

  Chapter 38

  Arabian Illumination of Manuscripts. German chromolithograph of Arabian maze designs, printed by E. Cochran in Stuttgart, Germany, c. 1880. From Dekarative Varbilden, a book illustrating decorative arts from different parts of the world. 10 x 13.5 inches. Price: $85.

  Maggie sat in the cafeteria for a few minutes after Dorothy left. Dorothy was clearly not threatened by either Oliver’s infidelity or his sexual peccadilloes. Or by the possibility that he was a murderer. Or that he might have directed Paul to kill. Did she really know her husband so well she could be that sure of him?

  Maggie had been sure of Michael. And she shouldn’t have been. Even now…was Will faithful? He had never promised to be, nor had she. But there was an unspoken understanding. At least she felt there was. It was one of the reasons she’d held back with Paul Monday night. Thank goodness. But did Will feel the same way about her
? Did men and women place the same importance on fidelity? Or did they even have the same definition of fidelity?

  Love hadn’t stopped Oliver from having extramarital relationships. To “fill his needs,” Dorothy had said. Was it impossible for all needs to be met inside marriage?

  Maggie felt overwhelmed with information; she now knew more than she wanted to about Dorothy, about Oliver, about Paul, about Tiffany, and…

  She needed to see Max. It was time. Max knew all the players; he was willing to compromise, clearly, because he’d agreed to let Whitcomb House remain open.

  “He’ll be finished in just a minute,” said Jennifer when Maggie got to Max’s office. “He’s talking to the parents of a prospective student.” Maggie nodded. The small reception area outside Max’s office was clean and bright; the walls were filled with colored photographs of Max at campus events and Max with important visitors and Max receiving community awards. His aquarium was clean and the goldfish print was still on the wall. A goldfish. Could everything be that simple?

  Maggie still hadn’t gotten all the strands of possibilities straight when a middle-aged couple left Max’s office, smiling and shaking his hand, and carrying the current “look-see” brochure and Somerset College catalog. Max beckoned her into his office.

  “I assume you’ve talked with Dorothy or Oliver Whitcomb by now,” Max said preemptively. “And, yes, I agreed to let the residents stay at Whitcomb House. But Dorothy and Oliver had to make some concessions, and I’ll change my mind again if anything else embarrassing should happen over there. Do you understand?”

  “I understand.” Maggie stood in front of his desk. “Has the media coverage started to die down?”

  “Not at all. One of those television shows that covers unsolved mysteries called here this morning, wondering if we’d like the ‘Somerset College Capers’ to appear on their program.”

  “It’s only been three days since Sarah collapsed and two days since Tiffany died. Isn’t that a bit early to declare the cases unsolved?”

  “They didn’t seem to think so. Said they’d want to start on the program soon. To get in on the ground floor, they said.”

  “You mean you’re going to let them do it?” Maggie couldn’t imagine Max agreeing to that kind of publicity.

  “I told them I’d think it over and then call them. They promised to give some background information about the college as well as about the crimes. It would give Somerset College nationwide visibility, don’t you think? They’d be interviewing me, of course, and other key people, and we’d be able to talk about what Somerset College stood for: education, and a full intellectual life for all.”

  Did Max really think one of those television programs would showcase the romantic view of Somerset College that he liked to believe in? “I just came to thank you for changing your mind, and for letting the Whitcomb House students stay in their dorm.”

  “You don’t have to thank me for anything, Maggie Summer. Thank Oliver and Dorothy for talking me out of doing something I still feel would’ve been best for the college. And I haven’t decided yet whether I’m going to fire you.”

  “But I thought the situation with Whitcomb House was cleared up!”

  “I agreed to let those students stay. I didn’t say you were going to stay. You defied my orders. Instead of telling those students they would have to leave campus, you went around me. You went to Dorothy and Oliver and asked for their help. How do you think I feel about that, Maggie? I’m the president of this institution, in case you’ve forgotten, and I’m your boss. I have the experience and the knowledge to run this college. You don’t; Dorothy and Oliver Whitcomb, for all of their money, don’t. Do you understand me?” Max’s voice was getting louder and louder; his face was red. “You got me to change my mind by enlisting Oliver and Dorothy Whitcomb. Just because they have money that this college needs. I’m not proud of myself for going along with that! If this college weren’t so important to me, if I didn’t know that in a few weeks this whole incident would have blown over, and we’re going to need all of the financial help we can get to pull this campus back together, then I never would have gone along with Oliver and Dorothy. And you’re the one who put me in this situation. You!”

  Maggie tried to say something, but Max kept going.

  “You think Oliver and Dorothy believe in goodness and light and educating the poor single parents of the county, don’t you? Well, that isn’t exactly the whole truth! Oliver Whitcomb has other interests in that house, and those interests are not exactly the kind anyone connected with this college would like written up in any newspapers or revealed on any television program. If you hadn’t gotten yourself into the middle of all of this, then I could have closed down that place, and no one would have thought anything of it. Now who knows what will happen?” Max seemed to run out of steam for a moment. “And you’re in this mess, too, Maggie. What happened in your office yesterday that required the police to come racing back to the college? I know: your office was vandalized. But why would anyone vandalize your office? A break-in at Admissions, I could understand. Or at the Bursar’s Office, where the money is kept. Even my office, if someone wanted to make a political statement. But why did you call attention to yourself by having the police summoned to your office? I suppose you’ll be on the six-o’clock news next!”

  Maggie gritted her teeth. Max had always had a tendency to become overexcited, but this was beyond his usual temper tantrums. Way beyond.

  “Tiffany Douglass left some photographs in my office, probably accidentally. She may have been using the photographs to try to blackmail Oliver. I don’t know for sure who knew, or why, but Oliver found out and asked Paul Turk to find the photos.”

  “Turk? He’s the one who dumped everything in your office?”

  “He’s down at the police department now, giving a statement. He thought he was doing Oliver a favor.”

  “Who has the photographs now?”

  “I gave them to Detectives Luciani and Newton this morning.”

  Max inhaled deeply. “You gave them to the police?”

  “They were critical to the investigation of Tiffany’s death. And, possibly, of Sarah’s poisoning.” Max was clearly ready to blow again. Maggie could leave now or hold her ground. “I did what I had to do, Max. For the reputation of Somerset College, and for myself. I talked with the police. Maybe you should do the same.”

  Chapter 39

  Helicopis acis; Zeonia chorinoeus. A trio of primarily black butterflies, their color chromolithographed on a black-and-white steel-engraved background. Printed by Wyman & Sons, Limited, in 1896, London, for Lloyd’s Natural History. 4.75 x 7 inches. Price: $50.

  The students in Maggie’s class, who should have been focusing on post–Civil War reconstruction, were restless, and Maggie could do little to bring them back to the issues in their textbooks. The outside world seemed to be closing in on all of them.

  Monday night, less than forty-eight hours ago, Paul had asked her advice on keeping students’ interest. It was a good thing he wasn’t observing this class, she thought. Her mind was on Dorothy, who was making decisions about what she would do now; on Oliver, who had committed adultery, but whose wife didn’t believe he could have committed murder; on Paul, who was making a formal statement at the police station; on Tiffany, and on Sarah and Aura. And on Max, and what he would do next.

  No wonder the students’ minds were wandering; their professor’s mind was everywhere except on post–Civil War America. To everyone’s relief Maggie declared the class over a little earlier than usual.

  She went to the day-care center first.

  “You came back!” Aura’s smile was worth any hesitation Maggie had in taking the time to stop to see her. “I made this picture for you to take to Mommy.” Aura handed her a picture of a big tree with two people labeled “Aura” and “Momy” sitting under it. They were both smiling, and the sun was shining. “And this is for you!” Aura gave Maggie a big heart with a smile on it. “You’
re my friend, and my mommy’s friend.”

  Maggie couldn’t stop the tears from coming. How could she ever have felt sorry for herself when this little girl was so strong and so sweet? She gave Aura a big hug.

  “Don’t be sad. The pictures are happy ones,” said Aura.

  “They’re very happy. I know. Sometimes grown-ups do funny things, like crying when they’re happy.”

  Aura didn’t look convinced.

  “These are very special pictures. I promise I’ll go to the hospital and give your mommy hers, and then I’ll go to my home and put my picture on the refrigerator,” said Maggie.

  “That’s the best place for pictures to go,” said Aura. “That’s smart. The heart will make your house happy.”

  “I hope so, Aura. I truly hope so.”

  Maggie blew her nose and dabbed her eyes with a tissue, then drove from the parking lot of Wee Care back to her usual campus parking space. Was this going to work?

  It had to.

  At her office Claudia handed her the usual pile of pink slips and two chocolate Kisses. Maggie ate one of the Kisses as she looked through the notes. Everything was on target.

  It was almost five. There weren’t many classes scheduled for five; day classes were just about over, except for some labs, and evening classes didn’t begin until six-thirty, to give working students time to drive from their jobs to the campus. It was a perfect time.

  “Claudia, would you call Max Hagfield’s office and tell him I’d like to see him? Now. Say it’s important.”

  Claudia looked at her. “You already talked to President Hagfield today, didn’t you? I saw Jennifer in the ladies’ room, and she said you’d been up there.”

  “That’s right. I was.”

  “You’ve been up there a lot recently.”