Murder is Academic

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Murder is Academic Page 7

by Lesley A. Diehl


  “Go on.”

  “So I expect that he’s caught between a rock and a hard place. If he were out there at the lake, he probably had someone with him, and I don’t mean a fish or two. She would be a good alibi except that he can’t use her because then his wife would know what he was doing, not fishing, I mean.”

  “You think his wife would prefer to think of him as a murderer than as an adulterer?” Der seemed to think this was absurd.

  “Oh, yes, I do. You’ve never met Margo. She’s Italian and acts like Tony Soprano’s sister, you know, the one who shot her husband. She’s scary.”

  “I hope you’re not serious. Do you have any idea who the other woman could be?”

  “None whatsoever, but I can try to find out from my sources. All ‘amateur detectives’ have sources, you know. I’ll get back to you.” I hung up before he could say another word through those thin lips of his.

  I returned to my colleagues still sipping coffees in the snack bar, then trekked across campus center to talk with those gathered under the maples. I hoped someone might know more about Withers than I knew. I got lucky. In less than half an hour, I knew the name of the student with whom Withers was linked and had been, I learned, for the past year. It was the first I heard of it. Too much serious work, not enough smoozing with my colleagues. I gotta get out more.

  Chapter 8

  Returning to my hothouse office once more to tackle a paper that was not developing well did not appeal. I decided to give Beth a call to see if she was interested in stopping by the house for dinner on the weekend when I planned to have Annie, Guy and Der, assuming we were still speaking to each other. Beth picked up on the second ring and agreed that Saturday night would fit her schedule well. I told her the menu would be simple and confirmed that she was a red meat eater. She offered to bring wine, and I accepted.

  “Listen, I hope this is not awkward for you. I mean, I certainly can extend the invitation to Will if you wish to include him.” I hoped she would refuse this offer. She did.

  “We’re not on the best of terms right now. I made an appointment with the counselor, but Will is refusing to come with me. He says the affair is over, that I should forget about it, and that there is absolutely nothing to talk about with a counselor. He had the audacity to tell me I was being childish about a little indiscretion. I’m still going to go anyway. I’ve been picturing myself shoving him into the lake after I’ve had a go at his head with a pickax. That can’t be healthy thinking, can it?”

  Not at all healthy, I thought to myself as I drove home. I pictured the president’s death at the hands of someone wielding a shovel. My cell rang just as I turned into my drive. It was Guy.

  “How about a ride on the bike and dinner somewhere?” It sounded wonderful after my frustrating day in my hot office.

  “Good idea. I have a lot to tell you. Come on by. The door’s open. I’m just going to jump in the shower.”

  “I’ll join you. I’m just leaving work.”

  I ran up the stairs and turned on the water in the shower so it could warm up. The screen door slammed, and I realized that Guy was only a few short steps behind me. We both threw off our clothes and headed for the shower. This time he was reasonably well behaved, and we still had at least a half-cup of warm water remaining in the shower before we stepped out and began to dry off.

  “I’m a little surprised at your good behavior. Too tired, or are my charms beginning to wear thin?”

  “Not in the least. I’m just hungry as hell. How about we eat first and play later?”

  Guy obviously planned ahead as he carried with him an overnight bag with a clean pair of jeans and a black tee-shirt that fit over his chest muscles very nicely.

  “What if I’m not hungry yet?” I teased him as I watched him remove socks from his bag, admiring the way he moved, like a sleek, large cat. Oh, boy. I’m losing my concentration here. I feel like a teenager. This relationship is beginning to concern me. It’s all about sex, sex, sex. Is that so bad, bad, bad?

  “Suddenly you’re somewhere else. What’s up?”

  “I don’t know. I was just thinking. Is this relationship all about sex? Is that so bad?” I looked at him hoping he would reassure me it was much more than that.

  “I don’t know. It seems as if we haven’t had time for much else. My work schedule is brutal. Besides, I don’t know what there is to do around here in the summer.” It wasn’t really the answer I counted on, but it was truthful. Guy picked up on my disappointment and took my hand gently in his.

  “I don’t know what we have here. But I have a strong sense it could be much more than a romp in the hay. We need to give it some time, get to know one another, take it a little slower, maybe.”

  “We only have the summer.” My lip began to quiver. I was torn between hating it when men said “take it slow” and wanting to slow down myself.

  “Yeah, I know that, so I guess we’ll have to pack a lot of getting to know one another into a short period of time and then we’ll just have to see what happens by the end of the summer.” Guy’s eyes twinkled. “In less than a week we know a lot about this relationship. The sex is great and…,” he paused as if searching for his next words, “And you like the bike…”

  “That’s pretty lame. You don’t like to be too serious for long, do you?” I turned away from him and began to apply make-up in the bathroom mirror.

  “To tell you the truth, the serious stuff scares the hell out of me.”

  “Would you prefer we not get to know each other better, that this remain only a good hop in the sack?” This conversation was silly. I didn’t want to be serious, not me. I barely knew the guy.

  “A couple of days ago I would have said yes to that, but things kind of got out of hand somehow. There’s something I should have told you…” The sound of the screen door slamming and Annie’s voice carrying up the stairs cut off Guy’s words.

  “Did you hear, you two, that Orin Withers was called in for questioning?”

  Guy eyes locked with mine for a moment, then I turned away and called down to her. “That’s old news.”

  “I didn’t hear it,” Guy said. Guy and I descended the stairs together to greet Annie who stood in the kitchen with her hands full of grocery bags. She felt guilty, she said, for coming over only with pastries most mornings, so she brought supplies for a dinner on the grill.

  “I thought steaks, and I figured Guy would be here so I brought enough for everyone.” When she paused to catch her breath, she seemed to pick up on the discomfort between Guy and me, and ended with, “But if this isn’t a good idea, I’ll…”

  “It’s a great idea.” I was glad to see Annie. Whatever it was Guy was going to tell me would wait and, a tiny voice in my head said I didn’t want to know what it was at that moment.

  “So tell me about this Orin Withers affair,” Guy said.

  “Boy you hit the nail on the head when you said ‘affair’.” I proceeded to share what I learned about Orin’s extracurricular activities.

  “Oh, my gosh. I forgot to tell Der about what I discovered. I should call him, but, better yet, I think I’ll let old Orin wriggle on the hook and call Der later. I owe him one.”

  “What do you mean, you owe him one?” asked Annie.

  I smiled. Annie looked concerned. Guy stared at the floor.

  Since we all expressed hunger, Guy offered to hook up a new tank of propane and begin the rib-eyes. Annie volunteered to make a salad, and I started garlic bread in the oven. While Guy was off playing fire bug with the grill, Annie asked me whether something was wrong between Guy and me.

  “Um, no, just a misunderstanding, I think.”

  We carried the food out to the deck where Guy was taking the steaks off the grill. Conversation over dinner was minimal, whether due to continued tension between Guy and me or to everyone being famished, I didn’t know. We all finished the meal with groans of satisfaction.

  As the sun began to go down over the lake, we sipped our after dinne
r coffees and finished off the last of the strawberries I’d served for dessert.

  “A perfect ending for the day,” Guy said. We watched the last of the orange glow fade from the sky. A few mosquitoes buzzed around our heads, so I lit the citronella torches next to the deck. A bat flew from Frank’s attic vent toward the ponderosa pines near the water. Several more joined the flight pattern. Oh, oh, I’d better let Frank know he has unwanted tenants. Guy stood and stretched.

  “I think I’ll just be moseying along. It’s been a long, hard day. We’re to begin laying asphalt tomorrow, and that’s one hot and heavy job. I think I need some rest, which I won’t get here in all likelihood.” Guy winked at Annie and kissed the top of my head. Annie chuckled and said goodnight to him. I continued to stare into the coming darkness after I said goodbye and heard his bike start up.

  “Well, he seems his usual self,” Annie said.

  “Just what is his ‘usual self’? You don’t know. I don’t know. No one really knows. He’s only been around here for less than a week.”

  “Oh, boy.” Annie set her coffee mug with studied care on the table, pushed her glasses up on her nose and leaned forward, giving me her full attention. “Trouble in paradise. Come on, tell me. Something is going on.”

  “I’m feeling more attached to him than I should be given the fact that I don’t know him. So when I tried to suggest we do more than hop in bed every night, he got kind of funny about it. The conversation got even more serious than I intended. He said there was something he should have told me.”

  “Which was what?”

  “I don’t know. With your impeccable sense of timing, you came in the door at just that moment.”

  Annie hit herself on her forehead with her hand, and her glasses fell off the end of her nose onto the deck floor. “Dummy me.” She fumbled around in the dark, trying to find them.

  “Don’t be silly. I was just kidding.” I found the glasses and handed them to her. “He sounded so serious that I was relieved he couldn’t finish what he was saying. I get nervous when a man says to me, ‘I should have told you.’”

  I got up from my chair and began to pace the deck.

  “I should have told you what? I should have told you that I’m on the FBI’s most wanted list? I should have mentioned that I just robbed a bank? Or worse yet, I should have told you that I’m married with six children?” By this time my pacing had become a summer storm. My feet slammed across the deck in hurried frustration, and I flailed my arms around my head and shouted out across the water, “No, no, I’m glad, glad, I don’t know what he was going to say. I don’t want to know.”

  “Gee.” Annie twisted uncomfortably in her deck chair. “For someone who doesn’t want to know what he was going to say, you’re pretty worked up about it. A psychologist friend of mine would say you’re in denial.”

  “I deny that. I’m simply and quite appropriately mad for getting involved with someone I don’t know.” I plopped into the lounge with a loud sigh. “I’m nuts, that’s all.”

  “Go to bed.” Annie picked up her car keys and headed for the door. “Tomorrow is another day.”

  “Thanks for the advice, Miss Scarlet.” After Annie left, I sat there for a few minutes longer listening to the frogs croaking and considered the evening’s events. I let the night breeze waft away my anger, hurt and fear until resolve took their place. I had choices. Yes, I did. I went to bed, setting my alarm for seven. I had a lot of work to do tomorrow.

  *

  It was early for me, near eight in the morning, when I pulled into the Onondaga Falls Police Department lot and parked. If Der was surprised to see me at the door of his office, he hid it with a scowl on his face.

  “I’ve got important information for you about the murder and your prime suspect, Orin Withers.” I grabbed the chair in front of his desk and sat down. Mary, the officer at the front desk and the person responsible for letting me into Der’s office, entered and handed me a cup of coffee.

  “Where’s mine?” asked Der.

  She drew her eyebrows together in a look my mother used when we kids did something wrong.

  “You’ve been such a grump today, I think you deserve to get your own coffee. Besides, the pot’s empty. Unless you’d care to make more for the office.” She turned her face away from Der and winked at me as she left.

  Der kept his eyes on his desk and swept a big hand through his hair.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got some information for you too. We found the shovel.” When his eyes met mine, I saw a bit of a twinkle in them, but I also noticed the dark circles beneath them.

  I took pity on him and shoved the coffee cup across the desk. “I’ve had too much caffeine today already.”

  The announcement about the shovel trumped my news, but then it’s hard to get the best of Der.

  “You go first,” he said.

  “Orin Withers has a girlfriend and has had for the past several months. He used his recent interest in fishing as a cover so his wife wouldn’t know what he was up to. Obviously, he was out at the lake with the girlfriend. She was with him when he and the president met there. And she’s his alibi for the time of the murder, but he can’t use her or his wife will kill him.” The last sentence spilled from my mouth before I could consider the inappropriateness of it.

  “I already know that. Mrs. Withers called me last night and told me the whole story. She knew all along that Orin was playing around with someone.”

  “Margo told you?” I was shocked. “How did she find out?”

  “He always brought fish home after his fishing trips.” Der looked at me as if the logic of this statement was obvious.

  “But if you’re fishing, you’d catch a few. Why wouldn’t he bring home fish?”

  “Halibut, cod, scrod? Seafood from a fresh water lake? Even Margo didn’t fall for that one. And I don’t think Margo plans to ‘kill him’ as you suggested. I think she intends to divorce him.”

  It would be more in keeping with her style to hold onto him so she could make his life a living hell for the next twenty or so years. I shared my thoughts with Der, whose brief encounter with Margo was enough to convince him of the accuracy of my prediction.

  “Your turn,” I said.

  “My men located the shovel in the shed behind the biological and physical sciences building. It had blood and hair on it. I assume they’ll be a match to Talbot’s. So far no fingerprints. It’s been wiped clean.”

  Not very clean, if there’s still blood and hair on it.

  “If I can track down who has the keys to that shed, we’ve got some great leads.” He sounded excited.

  I tried to stifle my laughter with a cough. I didn’t fool Der who squinted his eyes at me and set his lips in that oh so familiar thin hard line that said he was getting exasperated with me.

  “Sorry to cut short your anticipation of cornering the killer, but I’d bet that there must be about fifty or so keys out for that door, just like any other door at the college.”

  “I thought there were careful records kept of who has the keys to each door on campus.”

  “You’re right, of course. Check with central maintenance for the key records. They’re all recorded there, but I’ll bet you a bottle of brandy few keys are ever returned. They just keep making more keys for the same doors and issuing them to anyone who will pay the two dollars to register for one.”

  He threw up his hands. “Why bother having rules about keys then?”

  “If we didn’t have rules, then everyone would take advantage.”

  “But they are now.”

  “Oh, not really. Some of us return our keys when we’re through with them.” I got up from my chair. “Listen, I know you have work to do. If there’s any way a lowly amateur can help in this investigation, just holler.” I didn’t have the heart to look back at him because I was certain he had his head down on the desk. Sleeping or weeping?

  Chapter 9

  I was cooling off on my deck with Annie. She and I had
taken the canoe out for a short practice run, and we both were dripping with sweat. The Guy thing still bothered me, and I thought some physical exercise would take the edge off my emotional angst. I was now too exhausted to think or worry. I had all I could do to breathe.

  Der drove into my driveway.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  With a sheepish grin on his face, he handed me a paper bag with something heavy in it.

  “Here’s your bottle of brandy. You were right, of course. There are forty-six people on campus with keys to the shed where we found the shovel. Maintenance keeps great records, but they don’t make much of an effort to get back the keys. The college might as well just leave all the doors open if everyone has a key to every door.”

  “Want to make it double or nothing? I’ll bet I can tell you what they said when you asked why they don’t go after those keys”

  He dropped into one of the deck chairs. “Fine. It’s just another bottle of brandy.”

  I checked out the bags under his eyes. This case is getting to him, I thought. He’s not sleeping well, and I’m being bitchy with him. I almost took pity on him again and withdrew the bet, but I decided he wouldn’t think much of me if I backed down out of sympathy for his well-being. And we knew each other well enough he could read that in me immediately.

  I smiled a bitchy kind of smile. “They informed you their job was to keep records on the keys, not police who still had them out. They further suggested you check with the Office for Campus Security to find out why the keys were not returned when they were no longer used. When you contacted that office, they told you they did not have the personnel to track down everyone who has a key checked out to every door. They also recommended you ask general maintenance why they allowed people to sign for keys and not return them. And around and around.”

 

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