Grey Howl

by Clea Simon

  ‘Dulcie,’ Mina broke in. ‘You heard her. She was verifying our material for us.’

  Dulcie shook her head, but kept her eyes on the professor. ‘I could have met you at the Mildon,’ she said.

  ‘I needed to see for myself,’ Showalter began, and then stopped. Putting her hand up to her face, she took a deep breath. ‘It’s the oddest thing. I thought maybe it was a dream. I–I don’t know why I wanted to check that material. Only that I had a strong sense that something was wrong with it.’

  Had it been anyone else, Dulcie thought, she would not have believed it. But dreams had a way of being true, in her experience. And if she and the professor were as strongly connected as she suspected, it was just possible that dreams were more than night-time fancies for her as well. Still, she needed to know more.

  ‘A dream?’

  Showalter only shook her head again. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t remember. It may have been because of the party. I’d been talking with Marco …’

  ‘Marco Tesla?’ Mina chimed in, and Dulcie wanted to shush her. Of course, Mina hadn’t heard the gossip about Showalter and the younger academic.

  ‘Yes.’ Showalter’s brow furrowed as she concentrated. ‘It was so strange, because we hadn’t expected to run into each other. Not here.’

  Dulcie nodded and leaned over to Mina. ‘He was a late addition to the schedule, you know. I don’t think Nancy even had a title for his talk.’

  Showalter had heard her. ‘No, she did. Even though his paper had been stolen, he was working on re-creating it from his notes. He’d given her a title. He seemed to think it was quite important, though he may just have been a bit tipsy.’

  ‘You were drinking with him?’ Mina latched on to that. ‘Did he seem, you know, drunk?’

  Showalter shook her head. ‘No. Angry, maybe. But not drunk.’

  Dulcie froze. ‘Did he say who—’

  ‘Dulcie.’ At the sound of her name, she spun around. Chris was there, his hair mussed up as if he’d been running. ‘I’m so glad I found you.’

  ‘That you did.’ The attention was flattering, the timing inopportune.

  ‘Can we talk?’ He had his hand on her arm, as if to draw her away. ‘’Cause I may have—’

  ‘Chris, this is Renée Showalter. Professor Renée Showalter.’ Surely he couldn’t have forgotten about the woman she hoped would become her mentor? ‘You know Mina.’

  ‘Hi, Mina.’ He bobbed his head. ‘Professor. But Dulcie—’

  She closed her eyes, just briefly. ‘Chris, I’m in the middle of a—’

  ‘Be wary, little one.’ The voice shocked her into opening her eyes – and stopped her complaint. ‘Pay attention!’

  ‘Chris, Professor Showalter was just about to tell us about Marco’s last—’

  ‘Marco?’ She spun around. Stella Roebuck was blinking at her with a look that threatened tears. ‘Are you talking about Marco?’

  ‘We were merely reminiscing.’ Professor Showalter must have noticed the watery eyes, too. ‘How are you doing, dear?’

  ‘I still can’t believe it.’

  Chris pulled on her sleeve. ‘Dulcie.’

  ‘Chris, I was on the verge of hearing something,’ she whispered. ‘Mr Grey wants me to be alert.’

  ‘We were colleagues as well as lovers.’ Stella was blinking furiously now, but still one fat tear rolled down her cheek. ‘There, I’ve said it.’

  ‘Marco won’t be forgotten,’ Showalter began. ‘What we know of his work will help us understand—’

  Stella cut her off. ‘That’s so kind of you. Especially because of where you are, and what you study. Marco and I – Marco was forward-looking. Always breaking the boundaries.’

  ‘Oh, brother.’ Dulcie couldn’t help it. This deconstructivist drivel couldn’t be what Mr Grey wanted her to hear, could it?

  ‘Dulcie!’ Luckily, only Mina seemed to have heard her.

  ‘Dulcie?’ Chris’s voice had taken on a whining tone. ‘Please, this is important.’

  ‘I was just telling these students here about him.’ Showalter had upped her volume. ‘About my last conversation with him.’

  ‘Dulcie.’ Chris again. Dulcie shook him off.

  ‘Dulcie!’ This time it was Mina, her voice taking on a note of urgency that was near panic. ‘Look at the time!’

  ‘What?’ She turned. Somewhere back behind the scaffolding was a big clock. Unless it had been taken down. ‘Chris, do you have the time?’

  ‘I gather you don’t, Ms Schwartz.’ A new voice broke into the mix from behind Dulcie. She saw the faces look up, and she turned.

  ‘Mr Thorpe.’ She choked out his name. Pay attention, indeed. ‘I’m sorry. Do you need me?’

  In response, he pointed. She followed the line of his hand where, yes, the big clock could be seen, high above the draped ladders. Three fifteen. She turned and looked around. The lobby was nearly empty. The caterer’s table, where the cheese platters had been, held only crumpled napkins and what appeared to be a discarded hat.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Thorpe.’ She shook off Chris’s grasp. He had to understand. ‘Shall we go in?’

  He nodded and turned, and Dulcie scurried after him. This was supposed to be Thorpe’s big moment and not only had she forgotten it, she had forgotten it because she’d been in conversation with his rival. He deserved better.

  ‘This day can’t get any worse,’ she heard him say.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Less than five minutes later, she was clipping the small microphone to his jacket collar. Although they hadn’t had time to do a proper soundcheck, Kelly had handed her the mini-mic with a reassuring nod. ‘Any better?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ His words boomed out, and she rushed to adjust the controls. ‘Or I would be,’ he went on in a stage whisper. They both paused. No, his words were not amplified. ‘If I had had proper time to prepare, that is.’

  ‘I’m so, so sorry.’ She patted down his jacket and did a quick inventory. His talk was on the podium. She could see it from here, under the directional lamp, which was already turned on. There was a hand-held microphone somewhere – Dulcie would have to find it – but odds were, there would be no questions from the audience. A keynote speech didn’t usually draw that kind of response and, frankly, Dulcie didn’t think impromptu interaction was Thorpe’s strong point anyway. Nix the hand-held, she made a mental note. What else?

  ‘Mr Thorpe, there is a box of tissues in the podium, if you need them.’ She worked to keep her voice calm. Yes, they were late. And, yes, her adviser was already panicking, the last-minute nature of their preparation adding to his already considerable stage fright. Underneath his wool jacket, he was sweating, Dulcie could tell. She considered grabbing another box of Kleenex for him to wipe his face and, after a moment’s hesitation, decided against it. Better not to make him even more aware of his pre-presentation jitters. ‘Do you need anything else?’ It was a more open offer. One that she hoped sounded friendly and helpful.

  ‘Some water would be nice.’ He licked his lips. ‘There was supposed to be a bottle.’

  ‘Of course.’ Dulcie looked over. She could see the paper, pages bright under the light, where she’d placed them only moments before. She could even see the box of tissues. And beyond, she could make out the waiting crowd. Nothing in the university started exactly on time, but it was close to three thirty now, and she could tell they were getting impatient. ‘Right on it.’

  She darted out, the stage lights in her eyes, and ducked down to peer inside the podium. Empty. What did she expect? She was supposed to take care of the day’s preparations. She would have to figure something out, and fast.

  ‘Hold on, Mr Thorpe.’ She walked quickly past him, back into the depths of the auditorium. Surely there was a water cooler somewhere – no, of course not. The plumbing work was behind schedule. The closest working water fountain was down in the basement. ‘Hello?’ Weren’t there supposed to be staff here? Someone to help out.

  �
�Ms Schwartz.’ Thorpe’s stage whisper caught up to her. ‘I don’t think we should dally much longer.’

  ‘Dulcie.’ Renée Showalter appeared out of the shadows. ‘Is everything okay? People have started asking.’

  ‘Oh, thank the goddess.’ Dulcie could have hugged the older woman. ‘Yes, I just should have been back here …’ No, this was not the time to explain. ‘Did you see a bottle of water somewhere? Maybe a case of them?’

  ‘Why, yes.’ Showalter looked around her. ‘I just did.’

  Dulcie could have swooned with relief. Instead, she waited as the visiting professor ducked behind a curtain and emerged, holding an opened plastic bottle.

  ‘Is this yours?’

  ‘It’ll do.’ Dulcie grabbed it and stopped. The bottle wasn’t sealed. Someone, Kelly maybe, must have seen it and thought it was unclaimed. There was a virus going around.

  ‘Ms Schwartz?’ Thorpe’s voice was ratcheting up in pitch, and Dulcie made a decision.

  ‘Here you go, Mr Thorpe.’ She twisted the top off and handed it to him. He took a deep drink and handed it back. Well, the damage was done. She didn’t say she’d opened a new bottle. Odds were, it would be fine. ‘Do you want me to put this out there for you?’

  ‘No, no.’ He waved her off. ‘I’ll just spill it.’ He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow. Between the water and the wipe, he looked better or, at least, ready to go.

  ‘Break a leg, Mr Thorpe.’ She squeezed his hand and watched, holding her breath, as he took the stage.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said, to a buzz of feedback. ‘Or rather, good afternoon.’ The crowd laughed, and Dulcie smiled. Good. Let him make a joke about the delayed start. It would warm up the crowd.

  ‘We are all gathered here today …’ He paused. This time, the joke fell flat. Kelly had corrected the sound, and now there was silence. ‘I mean, thank you all for coming. Today’s lecture is on …’ He looked down at his pages.

  ‘Come on, Thorpe. Play it straight.’ Dulcie spoke under her breath. Uneasy public speakers like Thorpe shouldn’t try to improvise.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ The handkerchief came out again, in reaction to the beads of sweat that could clearly be seen on his brow. ‘I seem to have gotten my notes out of order.’

  It was not an auspicious beginning, and it was Dulcie’s fault. She had checked that his talk was there, but not its order. Though she seemed to recall seeing, in fourteen-point type, a more conventional opening.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Thorpe began again. ‘And welcome to ELLA.’ Yes, that was it. Straightforward and direct. As long as Thorpe continued to read from his pages, he should be all right. Dulcie began to relax.

  ‘Over the following three days, we will hear …’ A pause, and Dulcie felt her shoulders tense up. ‘We will be hearing presentations by some of the most distinguished scholars in their fields.’

  He was launched. She turned to go. And that’s when she heard it – the collective gasp of several hundred startled scholars. And the thud, as Martin Thorpe hit the ground.

  FORTY

  He wasn’t out long. By the time Dulcie got to him – and that was fast – he was already blinking awake. By the time she was joined, in rapid succession, by Professor Showalter, Paul Barnes, and a hefty young man who explained he’d had CPR training, Thorpe was talking. Protesting, in fact, quite loudly.

  ‘Please, I’m fine.’ Still lying on the ground, he raised his hands to push his well wishers away. ‘Just a moment of weakness. It’s nothing.’

  ‘It’s not nothing, Mr Thorpe.’ Dulcie’s dissent was echoed by Nancy and Showalter. The young CPR champ was too busy trying to listen to Thorpe’s chest.

  ‘It is. Get off!’ That last bit was directed to the would-be EMT, but the gesture – which looked a bit like he was doing the breast stroke – served to move them all back.

  ‘Please, Mr Thorpe.’ Dulcie made a last attempt. ‘We only want to help you.’

  ‘You can help by helping me up.’ Thorpe reached for her hand. At the front of the stage, Paul Barnes was addressing the audience.

  ‘Everything is under control,’ he was saying. ‘Please remain calm.’

  ‘Man, he’s good.’ Kelly had reached her by then. ‘I couldn’t have gotten through the crowd if he hadn’t calmed them down.’

  ‘Great,’ Thorpe muttered, his face knotted. Dulcie didn’t know if that was because of the effort of sitting up or the praise for Barnes.

  ‘Are you sure you should be getting up, sir?’ The student had a point. Dulcie looked from him back to Thorpe, and saw how ashen his face had grown.

  ‘He’s right, Mr Thorpe.’ Even his grip on her arm had grown slack.

  ‘Emergency, coming through.’ She looked up. Two real EMTs had shown up, the first one carrying what looked like a tool box. ‘What’s the problem here?’

  ‘There is no problem.’ Thorpe’s temper was lively, at least. ‘I have a talk to give.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that the auditorium has been cleared, sir.’ The second EMT, a woman, had begun wrapping a blood pressure band around Thorpe’s arm. She nodded to her partner and he disappeared, returning a moment later with a portable wheelchair. Dulcie stepped back to let him through.

  ‘Can you sit up, sir?’ He seemed to be lifting Thorpe bodily into the chair.

  ‘Oopsy daisy,’ said the other. ‘Here we go!’

  Dulcie didn’t hear what Thorpe responded. All she knew was that the conference had started off with a colossal disaster, and it very well might be her fault. That open bottle – who knew what was in it, what she had given him to drink.

  ‘Dulcie, what happened?’ She turned. Chris was behind her.

  ‘Thorpe fainted.’ She could barely get the words out. ‘Chris, I think maybe I did it. I mean, I wanted to get him something to drink, and I …’

  ‘Dulcie.’ He wasn’t buying it. ‘Please don’t beat yourself up.’ He held her shoulders and looked down into her face. ‘He’s been sick, right? He’s probably got that stomach flu that’s going around, and the way he worries …’ He smiled encouragingly, and she found herself smiling back. ‘If it weren’t for you, he’d have collapsed long ago.’

  ‘Thanks, sweetie.’ She leaned into him and realized just how tired she was. To her surprise, however, he didn’t relax. Didn’t hold his arms around her like he usually did, and so she looked up. ‘Chris, what is it?’

  ‘I didn’t get to tell you.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I don’t even know what it means. But Dulcie, I’ve been looking at that laptop, and it’s the strangest thing.’

  ‘You found the paper?’ She didn’t dare hope. Maybe the conference could be salvaged.

  But he was shaking his head. ‘Nope, it’s weirder,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t a virus. I’m pretty sure of that. And whoever did it must have had the laptop for some time.’

  She didn’t even know how to ask and simply waited.

  ‘That woman – Professor Roebuck – was right. Someone went into her system and carefully erased her work. Destroyed all traces of it, as a matter of fact. But whoever did it took a lot of time and care, and really did it properly.’

  ‘Great.’ This might be a breakthrough to Chris, but to Dulcie it was just more bad news. She heard his soft protest as she broke away, and turned to explain. ‘I’m sorry, Chris. This is all getting worse and worse. Can you – is there any way you can find out more?’

  He nodded. ‘I’m running a program now. I should be able to find out when it was done, and that will help us figure out who did it.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Dulcie noted his use of the word ‘us’. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you, too, sweetie.’ He reached for her again, but this time only to deliver a peck to her forehead. ‘I should run myself. And you?’

  ‘I better get to the health services.’ She looked around. The EMTs had vanished. ‘Poor Thorpe.’

  ‘He’s lucky to have you,’ said Chris. ‘I’ll call whenever I find out anything. Or call
me.’

  Somewhat heartened, Dulcie walked into the wings. Nancy was there, with Showalter and Barnes, and gestured for her to come over.

  ‘Dulcie, are you going over to see about Mr Thorpe?’ Worry made her look ten years older.

  ‘Do you want to join me?’ She’d shrugged on her coat and saw that Nancy was reaching for hers.

  ‘If I may.’ She turned back to the other academics. ‘I appreciate your help with this. The dean will make his decision soon, I’m sure.’

  ‘What was that about?’ Dulcie asked as they left the auditorium. The winter dusk was already deepening, and she shivered in the cold.

  ‘The entire conference …’ Nancy shook her head, pulling her own coat closer. ‘Professor Roebuck didn’t even stay for the talk. She’s very upset with us, with the university.’

  ‘But that’s not fair,’ Dulcie protested. ‘Thorpe pulled in every resource to help her. It’s her own fault for not backing up and for … for making enemies.’ She didn’t want to gossip, but really, the way Roebuck mixed and matched lovers was asking for trouble. ‘We’re not responsible for Tesla – for that poor man’s death.’

  ‘The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing,’ said Nancy. ‘Love is a funny thing, Dulcie.’

  Dulcie stopped and stared. Somehow, she had never imagined the plump departmental secretary speaking out in defense of passion. Was it possible? ‘Nancy, are you and Mr Thorpe …?’ She could not even finish her question.

  ‘I respect him deeply,’ the older woman said. ‘And, frankly, with all the pressure that’s been on him, I’m not surprised that he collapsed.’

  Slightly stunned, Dulcie followed in silence as Nancy led the way across the Yard to the health services.

  ‘Martin Thorpe?’ Nancy asked at the front desk. Dulcie, meanwhile, tried to process. Nancy and Mr Thorpe … well, why not? The man had a heart, after all. She knew that because of the way he had taken to Tigger. Maybe Tigger was only the first of many changes. Maybe, she paused to consider, Thorpe might even open up in other ways. Could he really be the kind of adviser she had hoped for? The kind of chairman the department needed?