by Clea Simon
It was too much to consider. Besides, first she had to deal with this crisis. Chris was right, she knew, that she shouldn’t blame herself. Thorpe had been ill earlier. After all, that was why she and Nancy had sent him home. However, Thorpe had asked her to be his right-hand person, and therefore she had to see what she could do to salvage the conference.
‘What did they say?’ As soon as Nancy had turned away from the desk, Dulcie approached. If Thorpe would be released soon, it would make her job a lot easier. If not, she would have to make plans.
‘They’re keeping him here for observation.’ Plans, then. She looked up and saw how stricken Nancy looked.
‘Is it bad?’ Dehydration, stress, the stomach flu. Dulcie went over the possibilities.
‘There you are!’ She turned in time to see Paul Barnes barging through the door, Renée Showalter behind him. ‘How is he?’
‘We came as soon as we’d spoken to the dean,’ Showalter said, addressing Dulcie. ‘He’s decided to suspend tonight’s events, but said he’d wait until we heard about Mr Thorpe’s condition before going beyond that.’
‘And Professor Roebuck?’ If the third star of the conference could be talked into participating, the conference could still be saved. Besides, Dulcie had news – or reason to hope, anyway. With Chris on the case, Stella Roebuck’s work would be found.
Showalter and Barnes looked at each other. It was Barnes who answered. ‘I don’t know.’ He made a little cough, as if he were clearing his throat. ‘She was very upset.’
‘But I may have news for her.’ She looked up at Nancy. The secretary had turned away and seemed to be having an earnest discussion with a woman in a white coat. ‘Do either of you have her contact information?’
Showalter looked at Barnes. He coughed again and pulled out his cell phone to show her the number. ‘You can try her.’ He sounded doubtful.
‘If I were back in the office, I’d have her number anyway,’ Dulcie said. This entire conference was only supporting her belief that romance was best outside one’s own discipline.
‘You have news?’ Showalter asked.
‘Sort of.’ Proud of Chris, Dulcie explained. But instead of the relief she expected, she saw concern – or was it confusion? – on the academics’ faces.
‘I’ll see what the latest is before I call her,’ Dulcie decided, and punched in Chris’s number. The call went directly to voicemail. He was probably leaving her a message.
‘There’s more at play than meets the eye.’ The voice sounded so real she started to turn. ‘Pay attention, Dulcie.’
She shook her head. What wasn’t she listening to? She looked at the phone in her hand. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, turning away, and hit voicemail.
‘Dulcie, about that shape shifter …’ The old message from Lucy. Dulcie skipped ahead.
‘Hey, Dulce. Chris here. I may have found something.’ Bother: she’d heard this one. She clicked to the next. ‘Dulcie, Professor Showalter here.’ Was this another old message? She was about to erase that one, too, when the next words stopped her. ‘We need to talk. I’m sorry, but this isn’t what it seems.’
‘What isn’t?’ she asked the phone, but the message had ended. ‘Professor Showalter?’ She looked up, but the professor was staring at her, shaking her head ever so slightly. ‘What did you mean?’
‘Dulcie …’ The professor took a step toward her, her arm outstretched as if to take Dulcie’s arm. ‘I can explain.’
She never got the chance. Just then, a cry went up and they both turned.
‘Oh no!’ It was Nancy; her hands were covering her mouth. Her eyes had filled with tears.
‘Nancy!’ Pulling away from Showalter, Dulcie ran over to the secretary. ‘What is it? What happened?’
‘It’s Mr Thorpe,’ she said, her voice breaking.
‘He’s not—’ Dulcie couldn’t even say it. ‘He’s …’
‘He’s been poisoned,’ said Nancy, her usually calm voice rising to a shriek.
‘Come, here.’ Showalter was there, her arm around the other woman. ‘Let’s sit down, shall we?’
Dulcie stood there, frozen, until a beeping sound woke her. Chris’s voicemail, once again. She hung up and tried again. ‘Chris, where are you?’ Another try. ‘Chris, call me, please. As soon as you get this.’
Showalter had Nancy over in the waiting area now. Her arm was around the other woman, who was bent forward, her body racked with sobs.
‘Oh, Nancy.’ Dulcie put her phone away. What wasn’t what it seemed? Had she been wrong about Showalter all along? Her questions would have to wait. She started toward the chairs, unsure about Renée Showalter’s intentions – and determined to extricate Nancy from her grasp.
She didn’t have to. The plump secretary must have had the same response because, as Dulcie approached, Nancy pulled herself from the professor’s embrace and stood up.
‘Nancy?’ Dulcie had never seen her so distraught. Nor, the thought struck her, so strangely determined.
‘Dulcie, I’m …’ Nancy wiped her face with one sleeve of her cardigan as she blinked back the new tears that threatened. Then she turned to look at Showalter and the various medical personnel who had gathered. ‘I’ll be back,’ was all she said, and with a determined stride made for the door.
Dulcie started after her. The secretary was in no shape to be alone, at night, in the city.
It was the thud that stopped her. The thud and the way the receptionist vaulted over his desk to run past her. Showalter and even Nancy looked up, and Dulcie turned.
Paul Barnes had crumpled to the floor.
FORTY-ONE
Dulcie couldn’t help it. She turned to Professor Showalter, her voice rising in panic. ‘What was in that bottle, professor? What did you give them?’
‘Them?’ One of the aides who had rushed over looked up. Dulcie ignored him.
So did Showalter. ‘What did I? Wait, Dulcie, you can’t think …’
‘I don’t know what to think.’ Dulcie’s head was reeling. ‘You said that you’d explain – but you haven’t.’
‘Haven’t what?’ The gruff voice caused them both to turn. Detective Rogovoy, his craggy face looking as rough as he sounded, was standing there. His eyes, although small, focused in, first on the visiting professor and then on Dulcie. ‘Someone better tell me what is going on.’
‘Detective Rogovoy.’ Dulcie struggled to regain her composure. ‘What are you doing here?’
One eyebrow went up. It wasn’t an attractive look. ‘I get a call about a possible poisoning, you think I don’t look into it?’ He looked from one woman to the other again. ‘Especially when it turns out that our jumper from the other night might have had some help?’
‘Marco?’ Showalter’s surprise sounded genuine to Dulcie, who remained silent. In fact, she turned toward Dulcie now. ‘And you think that I had something to do with this?’
‘I—’ Dulcie didn’t know how to respond. It was Rogovoy who had first suggested that Showalter might have been involved in Tesla’s death. Now, considering that Stella Roebuck had been effectively taken out of the running and both Thorpe and Barnes were laid low, it only seemed natural to look to the red-haired professor.
‘Wait here,’ said Rogovoy. It was a command. Not that Dulcie could have moved. She felt rooted to the spot as the detective lumbered over to speak to one of the white coats who had taken Paul Barnes away.
Renée Showalter, at least, seemed to have use of her wits.
‘Dulcie,’ she said, ‘I meant what I said – I can explain. Now, I can – I needed to confirm something. But there’s something else going on here. I didn’t have anything to do with – with any of this.’ She was speaking softly but quickly. ‘All I know is that something is very, very wrong.’
‘You weren’t at the airport.’ It was weak, but it was all Dulcie could think of.
Showalter nodded. ‘I know. I lied, and I’m sorry. But it has just been so odd.’ She glanced over at the desk, where several
other medical types were talking with the detective. ‘I’ve told you the truth about the documents, though. Someone – something – put the idea in my head that they weren’t to be trusted. Weren’t “true”, in a way. And since I’d given them to you – to you and Mina – I felt like I had to check them out. But I couldn’t tell you why I had those suspicions. Not then …’ Her voice trailed off.
Something about her story, however, had alerted Dulcie. ‘You heard a warning?’ She bit her lip. ‘Have you ever heard anything like this before?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she said, slowly. ‘Why, Dulcie? What do you know?’
‘Professor Showalter?’ Rogovoy was walking toward them, his face grim. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to answer a few questions.’
‘Dulcie?’ The professor pleaded. ‘Please?’
‘I can’t explain right now.’ Dulcie was thinking fast. ‘But I do know where to start.’ She looked over at Rogovoy, but the detective was clearly focused on the professor as he made his way toward them.
Dulcie took a deep breath, weighing everything she could. Something, the professor had said, was not what it seemed. Well, it seemed like she was guilty. And what had Mr Grey said?
‘We are not what we seem.’ She made a snap decision.
‘I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Professor Showalter,’ she whispered to the professor. Looking up at Rogovoy, she pasted on a smile. ‘I’m just going to use the facilities.’
There was something sharp in his gaze that made her hesitate. But he muttered, ‘Don’t be long.’
Ducking out of the health services, Dulcie reached for her phone. ‘Please pick up.’ No use; she’d gotten Chris’s voicemail again. ‘Chris, please, call me back.’ She’d passed the shelter of the building by then, and the wind made her cringe. Turning back, into the light, she checked: no messages, no texts. She fired off one of her own: ‘Help pl? Lk 4 bttl bkstage Aud A left.’ She paused, then added, ‘DONT DRINK!’ That should do it. But to make sure, she hit dial one more time. ‘Chris, if you get this, I need you to look for a water bottle. It was on a chair stage left of Auditorium A.’
Nothing for it. While she’d hoped her boyfriend would be on hand to help, she was certainly capable of returning to the Science Center – and finding that bottle. Not that she knew what it would prove. But somehow she couldn’t believe that Renée Showalter had consciously poisoned Thorpe – or Paul Barnes.
In fact, it had been Paul who had given her a drink, before she’d gotten ill. At least according to Chris. Where was her boyfriend anyway? Dulcie put her collar up against the cold. Could Chris have fallen ill, too? Maybe he was alone, in the lab. Or worse, out here in the dark. Not even six and it might as well be midnight.
She called again. ‘Chris, I’m getting worried.’ She remembered how dizzy she had felt. How nauseous. ‘Please call me, okay?’
Pausing under one of the Yard’s tall lights, she tapped out a text, her fingers cold and awkward in their gloves. When another attempt to call led to an announcement that her boyfriend’s voicemail was full, she began to panic.
‘Mr Grey, are you out there?’ Stepping through the arch on to the open plaza, she looked up at the sky. ‘You wouldn’t let anything happen to Chris, would you?’ The clouds racing above her parted, showing the bright face of the moon. ‘Mr Grey?’ No other answer came, however, and so she hurried on to the light and warmth that human works promised.
‘Kelly!’ She should have gone straight to the stage area of the auditorium, she knew that. Every minute meant more chance that someone would have found that bottle, could have thrown it away. For all she knew, it had been tossed hours ago, as the custodial staff came in to clean up after the aborted opening address.
Still, she couldn’t help it. As soon as she’d entered the brightly lit building, she headed straight for the sound booth. As dark as it was outside, it wasn’t that late. With the rest of the conference still on hold, someone had to be working.
‘Kelly?’ The door wasn’t locked, but the booth inside was empty. No Kelly, and more important, no Chris.
Had they both become ill? Dulcie forced herself to stay calm as she left the vacant booth and stepped back into the lit lobby. A young woman in a custodial uniform was still mopping.
‘Hello? Excuse me.’ Dulcie ran up to her, and she turned, tucking a long blond plait behind her ear. ‘Can you tell me, did you see a tall guy, dark hair?’ She held her hand up above her head, palm flat. Chris was over six feet, taller than either of them. But the woman just shook her head.
‘I’m sorry.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘There are just so many people.’
Of course. Dulcie licked her lips and thought. ‘You didn’t see anyone taken away by emergency personnel, did you?’ She held her breath.
The other woman lit up, her dark eyes opening wide. ‘Yes. Is that what you were asking about?’
Dulcie nodded, unable to speak.
‘It was about an hour ago? No, more like two hours.’ The blonde held out the mop and started waving it like a pompom. ‘Over there, in the big auditorium.’ Not waving, she was pointing with it. ‘I think it was someone from the conference?’
Thorpe. Dulcie exhaled, the tension flowing out of her. ‘Oh, yeah, thanks. Nobody else?’
‘No.’ The dark eyes looked confused. ‘Isn’t one emergency enough?’
‘More than enough.’ Dulcie managed a smile. ‘I’m sorry, I just thought, well …’ The blonde had gone back to her cleaning, her hair once again hiding her face. ‘Thanks, anyway,’ Dulcie said backing away, embarrassed.
The basement was no better. The computer lab was bustling with students. Final projects didn’t understand holidays or weekends, but Dulcie saw no familiar faces. Even the grad student on call – the job Chris had held regularly for the last two years – was someone new.
‘Chris Sorenson?’ He blinked up at her with the wide, watery eyes she had come to recognize as the sign of the sleep-deprived programmer. ‘I don’t think he works here any more. Girlfriend, you know.’
‘Yeah,’ she said, turning away. ‘I know.’
She checked her phone as she made her way upstairs. Still no new calls or texts. Then it hit her: of course! If Chris had gotten her messages, he wouldn’t have paused to reply. He’d have gone looking for the bottle. Racing up the last few steps, she sprinted back to the auditorium. Pulling the door open, she took a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust.
‘Chris?’ She called down to the stage. ‘Chris, it’s me, Dulcie. Are you there?’
She saw a movement. The faint emergency lights behind the auditorium didn’t do much to illuminate the seating area, but up front, she could make out shadows – a figure. Someone was on the stage, and she began to run. ‘Chris! I’ve been so worried!’
‘Where is he?’ Stepping into the faint blue glow was Stella Roebuck, center stage, a look of utter panic on her face. ‘I can’t find him either!’
‘You can’t?’ Dulcie didn’t want to believe it. Climbing up to the stage, she passed the visiting scholar to look through the stage’s left wing. Nothing. No Chris, even though the lighting was more effective here. But stage directions could be confusing, she reminded herself, and raced to the other side. Nothing there either, except that empty blue glow, even though she was careful to check the corners, where someone, say taken by a bad cramp, might have curled up in pain. ‘He’s not here.’
‘That’s what I’ve been saying,’ Stella was right behind her. ‘And there’s nobody in the booth either. Not even that girl, what’s her name?’
‘Kelly.’ Dulcie recited it by rote. She looked around. In the blue light, the other woman looked ghoulish. This wasn’t making sense. Where was Chris?
‘Yeah, well, she’s not here either.’ Stella started poking around the tiny backstage area, her slim body casting long shadows. ‘It’s a liability issue. I mean, this is just too much.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Dulcie watched her as she poked behind a curt
ain and ducked down to look beneath that chair. ‘Are you looking for the bottle, too?’
‘What?’ Stella stood up, her face blue-white. ‘No. What bottle?’
Dulcie just shook her head. It was gone. Chris was gone. She didn’t know what to do next. ‘And you haven’t seen Kelly?’
‘No, and I’m wondering if they’re in cahoots.’ Stella crossed her arms and stared at Dulcie like she was waiting for something.
‘I don’t understand.’ Dulcie stared back.
‘Look, I know he’s your boyfriend. That’s one of the reasons I trusted him.’ Stella shifted her weight, appraising Dulcie. ‘That’s why I don’t know if I should say anything.’
‘Please.’ Dulcie said. ‘If you know where he is.’
‘I know what he’s been doing,’ said the other woman. ‘And I bet he’s off with that Kelly woman. I’m sorry.’ This was because Dulcie’s mouth had fallen open. ‘I mean, who else but a computer person would have known how to plant fake evidence on my laptop? I told him – told them – that I wanted it back, immediately, and he said he’d go get it. And now they’ve taken off, and they’ve taken my laptop with them.’
FORTY-TWO
It wasn’t possible. There had to be another explanation. But faced with an enraged Stella Roebuck, Dulcie couldn’t quite explain what that other explanation was.
‘No,’ was all she said. ‘No way. Kelly, maybe, but …’ No, Dulcie didn’t know the media tech well, but she’d liked her. ‘There must have been a problem. Maybe one of them got sick. Or both of them.’
‘Of course you’d think that.’ Stella was nearly spitting. ‘You still think you can trust a man.’
‘But …’ Dulcie stopped herself. What she’d been going to say wouldn’t have helped. She had been about to point out that as far as she could see, the men in Stella’s life had been trustworthy. She’d been the one to trade partners like a square dancer. ‘I can’t imagine that Chris would take your laptop,’ Dulcie finally managed to say. ‘Why would he?’