Murder is Academic

by Lesley A. Diehl

One of the state troopers approached Der and beckoned him away from Annie and me. When he returned, he was shaking his head. “He’s dead and hasn’t been in the water long. He’s got identification in his pocket.”

  “Good. Who is it?” I was wringing my hands with both anticipation and anxiety, but Der moved away with the officer and returned to the dock.

  Two men in EMT uniforms were removing the body from the boat. I couldn’t make out the face on the dead man because of the angle of the sun near the horizon and the flashing lights from the police and emergency vehicles. Besides, I wasn’t too keen on looking at a dead body anyway. I much preferred the grisly details once removed.

  “Who is it?” I said again. Der ignored me.

  Annie tapped my arm. “Give me your cell, and I’ll let your guests know the cookout is off.”

  I handed it to her without taking my eyes from the scene in front of me.

  “It’s dead. Don’t you ever remember to charge this thing?”

  “Every now and then. Use yours.”

  “We left in such a hurry I don’t have mine. I’ll just use the station’s phone.” She started toward the building, but an officer barred her way.

  “Sorry, ma’am, we’re securing this area as a crime scene. You can’t go in there.”

  He smiled at Annie. Aha! A friendly face. Maybe we could pump him for information, but before I could intercede, Annie looked up into his eyes, shoved her spectacles back up on her nose and took charge.

  “Why is the building considered part of the crime scene?” she asked.

  “Because the body is that of a person connected to the field station.”

  “Oh. Do you know whom?”

  Atta girl, Annie.

  “No. What’s your name? I don’t recall seeing you at any crime scenes before. Are you a reporter for a local?”

  “Oh, no, I’m with the college.” Annie twisted a lock of her hair around her finger, removed her glasses and ratcheted up her smile on the grin meter. She’s flirting with him. Good heavens, they’re into some kind of mating ritual. I’d never seen Annie behave so coyly.

  Get on with it, I thought, then decided to help move things along. I cleared my throat to get his attention. His glance slid to me and then back again to Annie. I took that as a sign of brain wave activity.

  “So if the dead person is someone connected with the field station, it could only be one of two people, the director or his assistant. Which one?”

  I got nothing in return. The two of them continued to gaze into one another’s eyes and smile.

  “It was the director.” Der’s voice came from behind me, startling the three of us.

  Annie dropped her eyes from the officer’s and grabbed my arm. I knew we both were thinking of Beth.

  “I’d better call Beth and tell her,” I said.

  “I already called her. She’s on her way here to ID the body,” Der said.

  “Is that absolutely necessary? You said he had ID on him.” Der rolled his eyes at my remark. “Oh, I get it. That might not be his. Well, then, can’t someone else do it?”

  “Sure, how about you, Laura? You knew him well enough. Want to take a look?”

  “No thanks.” I began retreating to the safety of my car and then stopped, realizing Der knew me well enough to offer the suggestion of viewing the body as a way of backing me away from the crime scene. Well, it wouldn’t work.

  “Mind if I stay here and act useless? At least until Beth arrives so I can provide support if she needs some.” I hoped he understood acting useless did not include IDing the body.

  Der shook his head and waved both his hands as if to fend off my help. “I’ll send Beth back to your house when we’re finished.”

  I was about to argue with him when Annie tapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s go. There’s nothing we can do here.”

  She was right. I had to leave this to the professionals.

  Annie’s officer was busy so we waved good-bye from a distance.

  Both of us seemed preoccupied as I guided the car down the lake road to my house. My thoughts were on Stanford’s death and Beth’s reaction to the news. Annie’s emotions seemed to be in a state of conflict. She would wrinkle her brow and mutter, “Oh, how awful” and then several minutes later a sigh would escape her lips and a tiny smile tug at the corners of her mouth. The latter had to be her reminiscing over the meeting between her and the officer at the crime scene. I’d never seen Annie so taken with a man, and so quickly, too. So who’s going too fast now, Annie, my girl?

  As I pulled into my driveway, I parked toward the left avoiding the red sports convertible occupying the other side. It was a car I didn’t recognize. Maybe it belonged to Guy, and he was back from Canada.

  The kitchen entry door opened as we approached the house. My heart did a skip in anticipation, but a tall woman with dark skin and almond-shaped eyes stuck her head out of it. Her long black hair was pulled back from her high cheek bones by a silver clip fastened at the nape of her neck.

  “Hi, there. I hope you don’t mind but the door was open so I came on in assuming you didn’t own a ferocious guard dog who might take off a leg.” She shook my hand and then Annie’s.

  “I’m Alicia Jones, Der’s friend and date for tonight’s cookout. Sorry we’ve never met yet on campus.” Her hand was slender and cool in mine, her handshake firm.

  It took me a moment before I could speak. It was a shock to find a stranger in my kitchen, and it looked as if she was preparing food for my cook out. Oh well. Less work for me.

  “Wow. I mean, sorry I never took the time to look you up in your office.” I remembered Alicia was the affirmative action officer newly hired this past year. “Nice to finally meet you, but, if you’re Der’s date, shouldn’t he have had the courtesy to bring you himself or at the very least tell you he’s on a case?”

  “He did tell me. Der gave me directions and said he would be over if he could pull himself free. So here I am. I took the liberty of finishing the salad, and I put the potatoes on to bake. Oh, and the garlic bread is ready to pop in the oven.”

  I told Alicia we were at the Biological Field Station and filled her in on the discovery of Stanford’s body.

  “Der told me you were helping him on President Talbot’s murder. I guess you think this is related?”

  Was it? I hadn’t given that much thought. Hmmm.

  I poured wine for all of us, and we took our glasses out to the porch deck to catch the sun going down behind the trees on the far side of the lake. A few bats began their nightly flights, and an owl hooted in an ancient oak tree across the small bay to the north of my property.

  “That’s a sound that would chill my ancestors’ bones,” Alicia said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. She seemed not in the least unsettled herself.

  “I’m part Cherokee. Some tribes believed owls foretold death. I guess this one is a little late in his announcement.”

  “Unless there’s yet another death waiting. My grandmother always said bad things come in threes.” I never thought of myself as superstitious, but I shuddered at the macabre nature of our conversation.

  Chapter 11

  “Could we change the subject?” Annie shifted around in her chair and raised her untouched wineglass to her lips. “I mean, this is really unsettling with President Talbot’s murder and now Stanford’s death.”

  Annie was right. We needed something to lift our spirits. “Yeah, but some good has come out of this recent tragedy,” I said.

  “What’s that?” Alicia asked.

  “Annie’s got herself a boyfriend.”

  “Oh, stop!” She dropped her gaze and then giggled when she looked at me again.

  Pushing her glasses up on her nose, she announced shyly, her voice barely above a whisper, “His name is Ron.”

  “And you don’t want to talk about it, right?” I asked.

  “No, really, it’s Okay. I don’t mind at all. I don’t know a lot about him, except he’s a state t
rooper, and he goes to law school at night.”

  “Well, maybe if the two of you had done more talking than staring at each other, you’d know a lot more.” I winked at Alicia.

  The headlights of a car reflected off the privacy fence dividing my property from my neighbor Frank’s, as someone pulled alongside the driveway. I heard a car door slam and footsteps on the path.

  “It’s me Beth. I’ll be right out.”

  I started for the screen door to check on her when she appeared, a wineglass in one hand and the tissue box in the other. She was struggling for control, and who could blame her? First a divorce and now her husband’s death.

  I introduced Beth and Alicia.

  “I’d best be going and leave you all some privacy here,” Alicia said.

  “Don’t leave.” Beth held out her hand to restrain Alicia. “Will and I were getting divorced. Mostly what I’ve been feeling for him these past few weeks has been anger and betrayal, but I did love him once. I’m so confused right now.” She extracted a tissue from the box, blew her nose and wiped her eyes, then took a sip of her wine.

  I put my arm around Beth and pulled her onto the lounge with me. “Have a seat and launch yourself into a good cry or a long howl, whatever you need.”

  “This house has recently seen a lot of hollering and sobbing,” Annie said. “It stands up well to emotional assaults.”

  Beth shook her head, then decided to let go.

  The four of us talked, cried and hugged away a lot of pain over the next few hours. Beth finally wiped her nose with the last tissue and announced she hadn’t another tear left in her unless she was fed something to replenish the sob reserves. We all agreed it was time for the steaks to go on the grill.

  “I’m afraid the baked potatoes are like hockey pucks,” Alicia said from the kitchen.

  “We’ll make do with salad, garlic bread and the steaks,” I said, “And the best yet, chocolate cheesecake for dessert.”

  “The heck with the steaks and salad,” Annie said. “I’m starved. Let’s eat dessert while the steaks cook.”

  Although Beth ate very little, the food seemed to revive her a bit. As I laid down my fork, and we all groaned in unison, headlights hitting the side of the house announced another visitor. This time it was Der. He settled for a cup of coffee, but waved away any dinner.

  “I’m sorry about your husband and that you had to go through IDing the body. I’m afraid I’ve got more bad news. You’ll have to work someplace other than the Biological Field Station for the next few days until we finish up there. And so will Donald Hall, Stanford’s assistant. I’ll talk with him tomorrow.”

  “That’ll be tough on Donald,” Beth said. “He doesn’t have an office or a desk on campus. He always worked out of the station. Even Will rarely used his campus office, and there was talk of taking it away from him and giving it to another faculty member because of the shortage of space.”

  “That’s interesting,” Der said. “I didn’t know Dr. Stanford had an office on the campus.”

  “I don’t think he’s been in that office more than a few times in the past month or so. He was going to offer it to me to use for writing my dissertation so I wouldn’t be in the way out at the Station. That would have been ideal considering our marital problems. Now, though, it probably won’t make much difference where I do my work.” A look of despair crossed her face.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “My work at the Biological Field Station for my dissertation was kind of unofficial. I was doing it there because I got permission from Will. Now that he’s gone I’m not certain the college will let me continue. And with President Talbot’s death, I don’t even know whom I should contact to get permission.”

  “Do you have anything from Will in writing?” I asked.

  “We did most of this on the phone, but I did write him mentioning some of the project details, and I received a letter from him in return indicating he talked with President Talbot about my work. Do you think that’s enough?”

  “It’s a start. Get that correspondence and take it to the dean as the first step in making this official. She’ll bump it up to Dr. Evans the Academic VP, but I think your visit to her will establish your seriousness in continuing the work here. Besides no one will want to look as if they’re giving a hard time to the widow of one of their most revered professors.”

  “There’s something I don’t understand about this whole thing. Will was a great swimmer and respectful of the lake. He wouldn’t take any chances with the boat or in his work. I can’t understand how he drowned.” Beth looked at Der with curiosity.

  “I’ll be able to better ascertain what happened, if there was foul play, when I get the coroner’s report.”

  “When you say ‘foul play’, you mean murder, don’t you?” I asked.

  “That or perhaps suicide,” Der said.

  “That’s absurd,” Beth said. “There’s no reason for Will to commit suicide. And he’s just not the type.” Beth’s reddened eyes began to tear up once more.

  “We’ll just have to wait and see what comes out of the lab report.” Der turned to Alicia and suggested they call it a night.

  “How about staying the night here, Beth?” I suggested. “This might not be the best time to be alone.”

  Beth agreed and said she thought she’d turn in now, as she was exhausted.

  “The sheets are still on the bed from the last time you stayed,” I said. She waved as she climbed the stairs. Annie and I walked with Alicia and Der out to their cars and called goodnight to them.

  “So how about staying, too, Annie? The couch is vacant or you can bunk in my king size bed with me.”

  “Uh, no thanks. I really need to get home. I gave Ron my home phone number, and I’m hoping he’ll call me after he gets off work.” She looked eager to be on her way, but stopped before she got into her car. “Oh, I just remembered. Didn’t we hear the phone ring when we left for the station earlier tonight? Better check the machine. It might be a message from Guy.”

  She laid rubber backing out of my drive. Now she was driving like me. I waved at her retreating car and went into the house to check on Beth. On the way up the stairs I glanced at the answering machine, but the message light wasn’t blinking.

  *

  Early the next morning, Beth and I took our coffee down to the dock and were dangling our feet in the water when my cell rang.

  “Hi, Mom. Remember me?”

  “Hi, David, and, of course I remember you. Don’t be silly. What’s up, sweetie?”

  I mouthed, “my son,” to Beth and walked off the dock toward the trees lining the shore.

  “Well, I kind of wondered if you were busy this coming weekend. I’d like to drop by for an afternoon.”

  I almost dropped the phone. “Mom, are you there? If that’s not convenient, we can do it some other time.” I could tell he was about to hang up.

  “That’s great. I was just a little surprised. You usually hate upstate New York in the summer.”

  “I hate upstate New York any time of the year. It’s a cultural desert. But I have this girlfriend, actually we’re engaged to be married, and she’s insisting on meeting you. So I thought I ought to bring her by for a visit.”

  I stopped breathing for a moment.

  “Mom, is there something wrong with this connection? You keep fading on me.”

  “Poor service. You know how the cell towers are here in the cultural desert.”

  He didn’t laugh. “Okay then, I’ll see you next Saturday around one or so. Don’t make lunch or anything. We won’t be staying long.” He hung up.

  That was my son, the penultimate yuppie. While I was excited to hear from him and to hear about his relationship, I was, as usual, irritated at his manner. Not only did he treat me in a dismissive way, he treated everyone that way. His father never tried to deal with his attitude. The custody arrangements after our divorce gave me little contact with David. The southern judge who heard the case wasn
’t fond of working mothers, so I got visitation only every second weekend.

  When my ex-husband moved his second family and his mother to New York City, I relocated from North Carolina also. Upstate was the only place I could find a position. I thought time on the lake would be wonderful for David, but he was a city boy, so he spent fewer and fewer weekends with me. The distress I suffered watching my son grow out of my life was heart wrenching, but I knew I had to let him go his preferred way. Maybe someday we could find each other as adults. Perhaps this phone call was the beginning of that possibility.

  It had been months, no, over a year since he visited me, although I made a trip three weeks ago to the city and met him for lunch. And he didn’t tell me about the fiancé then. So like him.

  I walked back to the dock and, despite all the thoughts of the past twirling around in my head, the excitement over the call and his impending visit pushed them to the background.

  “Good news?” Beth asked. “You look happy.”

  “That was David. He’s coming for a visit and bringing his fiancé to meet me.”

  “That’s great. Do you see him often?” She must have seen a cloud pass over my face, for she quickly added, “How insensitive of me. That’s really none of my business.”

  “No, no. It’s Okay. No, we don’t see each other often. It’s a rather long story and one you don’t need added to your load of trouble now. I’ll just save it for another time. Let’s say I’m delighted at his visit and eager to meet his fiancé.”

  “Well, I’ve got to get busy today. I hope I can get into Will’s office on campus.”

  “I’ll grab some more coffee and give Der a call to see what I can find out.” I walked toward the house and punched in his number.

  “Tell her we’re through with the campus office. Actually it looks as if we may be through with the entire case. We found a note on Stanford’s computer at the station. It looks like a suicide note. I’d like you to read it, Murphy, just to see what you think from a psychologist’s point of view. Can you meet me at the station in, say, fifteen minutes?”

  “Sure. Listen. Beth’s still here. What can I tell her?”