by Clea Simon
The building was strangely quiet, so much so that at first she wondered if the conference had indeed been canceled after all. It was the construction, she realized after a moment. It had stopped. Although parts of the lobby still seemed to be sheathed in dropcloths, the noise and clatter of the last few days had been at least temporarily curtailed as promised. For that small relief, Dulcie whispered her thanks.
‘Dulcie!’ She recognized Chris’s voice calling to her as she walked into the big lecture hall. She turned to see him climbing down from the sound booth. ‘You got my message.’
‘No.’ Dulcie shook her head as she dug around in her bag for her phone. Sure enough, he had called while she was meeting with Nancy and Thorpe. ‘Sorry, I guess I didn’t hear. What’s up?’
‘I may have found something.’ Her boyfriend was whispering, but his whisper was as loud as his regular voice. ‘On that laptop?’ He nodded over toward the front of the auditorium. There, down by the stage, stood Stella Roebuck. All in black, the visiting scholar would have been invisible in the dark if not for her pale, almost luminous face and her hands, which were waving around as she spoke to a young man – a student, Dulcie thought, from his skinny build and too-long hair. Neither of them seemed to have seen her, and Dulcie paused. She ought to check in, she knew. But Chris’s news was too tempting. She took her boyfriend’s arm and pulled him back toward the auditorium door.
‘What did you find?’ She leaned in. Chris wouldn’t be trying to be quiet if it was something he could share. ‘The paper?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘And, to be honest, I’m not sure what it means.’
‘Ah, Ms Swartz? There you are!’ Damn, they should have stepped outside. Stella Roebuck had spotted her and was hailing her down toward the stage, that white face looking up expectantly. ‘Ms Swartz, we’ve been waiting.’
‘I’ll tell you later.’ Chris nodded. ‘I’ll be in the booth.’
‘Coming!’ Dulcie descended the ramp. This was what she had signed up for, she reminded herself: to be the contact person for the conference. That meant being at the beck and call of the guests. ‘How may I help you?’
Stella Roebuck held up her hand for silence. She wasn’t through with her other companion yet. ‘And you’re telling me that outside media has to go through this university? Through your media office?’ She kept questioning the skinny man, who Dulcie now recognized as someone who worked in the dean’s office.
‘Yes, Ms Roebuck, but—’ His Adam’s apple bounced as he spoke, and he was going pale beneath his freckles.
‘Professor Roebuck,’ she cut him off, and Dulcie noted the signs of strain that had aged her overnight. ‘And so you are responsible for interceding with the press?’
‘Well, yes, but—’ Another swallow, another bounce.
‘Professor Roebuck?’ Dulcie knew she was interrupting. It seemed like Freckles could use the help. ‘May I be of assistance?’
The hand came up again, and Dulcie wondered if she could go back to Chris. But just as she was about to turn away, the scholar addressed her.
‘No, wait,’ she said. ‘Maybe you can.’
‘Excuse me?’ Dulcie knew that this woman had been through a trauma, but it still took an effort to be nice. The dean’s skinny assistant, she noticed, was slowly backing away.
‘I’ve heard there are people …’ she paused, and Dulcie found herself looking up into heavily mascaraed eyes. ‘People asking about me.’
Dulcie nodded. Of course there were. ‘Because of the—’ She wasn’t sure how to phrase it. ‘Because of Marco?’
Stella nodded once, quickly. ‘The press.’
‘Wow.’ Dulcie hadn’t thought about media. Then she remembered what she’d overheard. ‘But it sounds like the university is handling all of that,’ she said. ‘I’m sure that the dean’s office will do its best to shield you from any—’
Stella was shaking her head so rapidly that the peaks of her hair wobbled. ‘No, no,’ she interrupted Dulcie again. ‘It’s what they’re saying about Marco. It’s just not true.’
‘What are they saying?’ Dulcie felt like everything was going too fast. ‘And who?’
‘They’re saying he was a cheat.’ She blinked, and Dulcie could see tears welling up behind the black lashes. ‘That he stole my paper, that he sabotaged me – for the job. That he did it for this job. And then he … he took his own …’ She bit her lip, as if holding back more.
‘Who is saying this?’ Dulcie repeated. Perhaps she’d been at the university too long, but none of this was making sense. The outside world took notice of deaths – suspicious or otherwise. But it wouldn’t care about an academic scandal, would it?
‘I’ve been getting calls.’ Stella turned away and blinked again, and Dulcie had to resist the urge to reach out to her. ‘But I know who’s really behind it.’
Dulcie waited. ‘It’s Paul,’ said Stella, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. ‘Paul Barnes. He’s jealous, always has been. Ever since I worked for him. And now he’s out to ruin Marco’s good name.’
‘You worked for Professor Barnes?’ This was news to Dulcie.
‘Researcher, so-called.’ She dismissed her history with a wave of her hand. ‘Years ago. It never amounted to anything, of course. But we—’
‘Ms – Professor Roebuck?’ The assistant was back, a cell phone in a hand that was also spotted with freckles. ‘I have the dean on the phone for you.’
Dulcie turned toward him, her mouth open, then back to the visiting scholar. She was nodding, and looking at Dulcie as if she expected a response.
‘Um, I didn’t know.’ It was the best she could come up with. ‘Should you take the call?’
Stella took the phone and walked toward the side of the stage, leaving Dulcie to digest what she’d just heard. It didn’t change anything; Dulcie knew that. Of course Paul Barnes had had other scholars working with him. Dozens. And those would include other female scholars, of course. If anything, she told herself, it was a good sign. Stella Roebuck was a rising star, and she’d gotten her start with Barnes. That boded well.
Stella’s dismissive wave, however – that and her tone of voice. As if Professor Paul Barnes had been the one to owe her. And the implication that the esteemed professor was simply a jealous lover?
No, Stella Roebuck had reason to be distressed. First her paper disappeared, then her boyfriend died. If, on top of that, someone was trying to spoil his good name, then she would be crazy not to be angry. Blaming Paul Barnes, however, was going a bit far.
Unless it wasn’t Barnes she was lashing out at. Dulcie stood there, looking at Stella Roebuck’s back. Some women, she knew, didn’t like working with other women. Maybe Stella Roebuck was one of them. Had Roebuck heard that Barnes had expressed interest in working with Dulcie? Had, perhaps, seen more in Dulcie’s work than in Stella’s oh-so-hip new paper?
‘Dulcie …’ She heard the voice, but she didn’t need to ask what it was about. She knew. Roebuck wasn’t jealous of her, not by a long shot. If only Trista were here, she’d be able to get another woman’s take on the pixie-like academic. The blonde Trista was, in her own way, just as stylish as the visiting professor. But she’d never looked down on Dulcie. Or Suze: Dulcie’s long-time room-mate was as accomplished as any of them; this year, she was clerking for a non-profit law firm that handled some of the highest-profile cases in the country. And she’d never have disparaged her chubbier friend.
‘You have Chris.’ She smiled in the darkness. Yes, she also had Chris; a more true and loving mate she couldn’t have asked for. In fact, while Stella was occupied she should check in with him again. Maybe he’d figured out what was going on – then he’d be the hero of the day. She turned, only to see the dean’s assistant still standing there, as if mesmerized by Stella Roebuck’s back.
‘May I help you?’ She couldn’t just leave him.
‘What? Oh, no.’ He seemed a bit flummoxed.
‘She’s quite a handful,’ said Dulcie.
After all, the freckled man had gotten an earful. ‘But, well, she’s had a rough time of it.’
He was nodding, so she assumed he agreed – though with which statement she couldn’t be sure. ‘Are you okay?’ He was so thin and so pale, he must be frail.
‘Yeah.’ He was stunned all right. He turned toward Dulcie, his eyes wide. ‘But I think I’m in love.’
Dulcie bit her tongue, hard, to avoid saying something rude, and walked back to the sound booth in search of Chris. Times like this, she almost wished she was back on the commune. Her mother, she knew, would have choice words for those who misappropriated the gifts of the goddess, or something like that.
Then she saw Chris up in the booth and relaxed. So one visiting scholar had been rude to her. That meant nothing. At least she had a live boyfriend. She waved up at his sweet face and waited for him to come down.
And waited. He was talking, she could see now, his face animated and his hands moving as they did when he got excited. And nodding in rapt attention was the media tech, Kelly.
‘Yo!’ Dulcie had been banging on the booth door for a good ten seconds.
‘What?’ Chris, looking confused, opened the door for her and stepped back as she clambered in. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’ve been waiting,’ Dulcie started in – and caught herself. Here, inside the booth, she could see how dark the auditorium was through the glass. Only the stage was fully visible, illuminated by the safety lights at its sides. ‘I’m sorry, Chris. I think the pressure must be getting to me.’
‘Working with that one,’ Kelly nodded toward the front of the auditorium, even as she rolled a chair toward Dulcie, ‘could rub anyone’s nerves raw.’
‘She’s not that bad.’ Dulcie sat and looked at where Kelly had gestured, a stab of guilt flooding her with remorse. ‘I mean, she has been through a lot.’
‘More than you know,’ Chris chimed in from near their feet. He was rummaging under the control board now. ‘Hang on.’
‘So, Kelly.’ Something about the limited view sparked a thought in Dulcie’s head, and she craned to see as a taller person would. ‘You can’t really see the auditorium from up here, can you?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s designed that way. We need light in here to work. If the window were too big, it would shine down on the seats. Besides, we’re supposed to be focusing on whatever’s up on that stage. Why?’
‘I was just wondering.’ She looked out at the stage again. The area right before the stage was visible, barely. From what she could see, Stella Roebuck was still on the phone, the skinny assistant still standing by, transfixed. Meanwhile, Chris had surfaced, taking the seat behind theirs. The laptop in his hands reminded her of what she had been half thinking. ‘So you couldn’t really see who was in the auditorium yesterday, could you?’
‘No.’ Another shake of her head. ‘Not at all. Believe me, Roebuck down there kept asking. But no such luck.’
‘Maybe it’s just as well,’ Chris chimed in. They both turned toward him. ‘Dulcie, I heard what she’s been saying – that someone has been bad-mouthing that other guy. The one who died?’
Dulcie nodded. ‘Yeah, she’s really upset about it.’
‘I gather.’ Chris and Kelly exchanged a glance. Neither seemed as besotted as the assistant. ‘But she might be fighting a losing battle.’
‘Why?’ Dulcie rolled her chair toward him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, look at this.’ He touched the keyboard, and then turned it for Dulcie to see. ‘What do you think?’
The page was white, with the rows of symbols and squiggles that Dulcie identified with a corrupted file. ‘Is this her paper?’ She turned toward her boyfriend.
‘What? No, sorry,’ he reached over and touched a few keys. The file scrolled down, and Dulcie could see typing. ‘This was in her email.’
Dulcie read: ‘… Not possible … can’t go on …’ Then more symbols. When she nodded, Chris reached over to make the page scroll down again. ‘Ending it,’ she read. ‘Betrayal.’
‘I know she doesn’t want to admit it,’ Chris said, as she drew back with a gasp. ‘It looks like she even tried to erase this. But it’s an email from Marco Tesla, and it sure sounds to both of us like it’s a suicide note.’
THIRTY-THREE
‘How could she?’ Dulcie was aghast. ‘Doesn’t she know that the police think this is a murder?’
‘What?’ Kelly obviously hadn’t heard.
Chris turned to her. ‘There’s a detective who’s sweet on Dulcie.’
‘Detective Rogovoy isn’t …’ She shook her head. ‘Never mind. What matters is that Stella Roebuck has tried to destroy evidence.’
‘Is it evidence if there was no crime?’ Kelly asked. Chris seemed to be considering this, but to Dulcie it was clear as day.
‘It’s exculpatory.’ She’d learned the term from Suze.
‘I don’t think that means—’ Chris shut up when Dulcie swung around to face him.
‘Maybe they’ll decide it was an accident.’ Kelly was playing peacemaker, but Dulcie was shaking her head.
‘They’re already looking at Renée Showalter,’ she said.
‘Damn.’ Chris slapped his thigh. ‘I’m sorry, Dulcie.’
‘It’s okay,’ she responded. ‘I doubt they’ll—’
‘No, I mean, she called.’ Chris continued. ‘When she couldn’t reach you, she tried me.’ Seeing her confusion, he explained. ‘I guess you weren’t answering, so she called the departmental office, and Nancy suggested she try me. I guess it was urgent?’
‘Uh oh.’ Dulcie dug out her phone. She still hadn’t called Lucy back, but her mother could wait. Meanwhile, she had three new messages: the first from Chris, but the other two from a Montreal exchange. ‘Excuse me, please.’ She turned away from her colleagues and dialed.
‘Professor? It’s Dulcie.’ She bit her lip as she waited for a response. Showalter had said she might have a few minutes to chat today, and Dulcie was afraid she’d missed her chance.
‘Oh, hello.’ The professor was distracted. Dulcie could hear it in her voice. ‘Did you get my message?’
‘Just that you’d called.’ She looked down at her phone. She probably should have listened to the voicemail before hitting return. ‘I gather you were trying to reach me. I hope I’m not too late and we can still get together. Did you maybe have a chance to look at my paper?’
‘Yes, yes, I did.’ From the sounds in the background, Dulcie thought the professor was outside. ‘It was very impressive, but I did think we ought to talk before you presented it. Some of Ms Love’s work on the genealogy of your author seemed especially promising as a new focus of research.’
‘I see.’ Dulcie stopped herself from saying more. Mina’s work had been intended as a minor addition to the paper, a little bonus. Not the focus.
‘I’m not saying that the rest of the work doesn’t have merit.’ Even over the phone, the visiting scholar must have picked up something from Dulcie’s reaction. ‘Only I’ve just learned that, well, that there may be some questions about the provenance of some of the research I passed along to you.’
‘Questions?’ Dulcie barely got the word out. It didn’t seem like the professor had heard.
‘And so, going forward,’ she was saying, ‘I think you may find the genealogy particularly interesting to research. That material is sound as a bell.’
‘Okay.’ It was all the enthusiasm she could muster, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she could have kicked herself. Here was a senior scholar who had gone out of her way to help, even making sure that new documents were made available to Dulcie and Mina. It wasn’t her fault if the new material hadn’t been properly vetted. That should have been Dulcie’s first step. Basic academic discipline, and she’d muffed it.
This was her problem, not Showalter’s, and she owed the scholar an explanation, if not an apology. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I guess I didn’t do my homework. It’s just that Thorpe think
s I’m overextended as it is, and he is my thesis adviser.’ She paused, wondering how much more she should offer. After all, Showalter was hoping to win Thorpe’s job. ‘He thinks I should focus on the text,’ she said, finally. ‘On the accepted text, that is. He’s very big on strict textual analysis, with an emphasis on structural procedures.’ What she’d said was true, but it felt like she was stabbing her adviser in the back to say it. The word ‘traitor’ sprang into her mind, or rather …
‘That would be a betrayal of your instincts,’ Showalter snapped back. That was the word: betrayal. ‘Of everything you’ve been working for.’
‘That’s what I think, too.’ The confirmation was invigorating. They were clearly on the same wavelength. That word, though … ‘Professor, did you know Marco Tesla?’
Too late, Dulcie remembered Trista’s gossip. She hadn’t been able to visualize her mentor with the young fop, that didn’t mean they hadn’t had some kind of relationship – some romantic connection.
‘That poor man.’ To Dulcie’s relief, Showalter didn’t seem unduly upset. ‘No, I knew him by reputation, and I had something I wanted to discuss with him. Well, I guess that’s not pressing now. You might speak to Stella Roebuck about him, if you’re curious. Or Paul.’
‘Paul Barnes?’
‘Why, yes. They’ve been talking about a project,’ said Showalter. Dulcie could hear what sounded like a bus in the background. Her next words were almost drowned out: ‘… very confidential.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Dulcie raised her own voice. ‘I’m having trouble hearing you. You said Paul Barnes and Marco Tesla worked together?’ She paused, unsure how to phrase her next question. ‘I thought maybe there was some conflict between them.’ She didn’t want to say Stella Roebuck’s name.
‘You mean about Stella Roebuck?’ Showalter didn’t seem so easily fazed. ‘Yes, there was some history between them.’