“Are you thinking the killer is someone in the history department? Because I talked to the secretary—”
“Administrative assistant.”
“Whatever. Norma Leeds, right?”
Liss nodded.
“She backed up what you told me about Professor Halladay being in her office during the relevant time period. No one else who works in that department came in that day.”
“I don’t suppose Norma herself had a motive?” Liss asked without much hope.
“Strangely enough, she did, but I don’t think she’s our killer.”
“What motive?” Liss took in Murch’s smirk and groaned aloud. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me Norma was one of Palsgrave’s conquests.”
“Okay. I won’t tell you. But I’ve got a source who says they went at it hot and heavy for about six months.”
“When?”
“Two years ago. There must have been a dry spell in the cute student department.”
“Or else Palsgrave was getting too old to attract coeds.”
“There is that.” Murch fished in a pocket for a fresh hit of bubble gum.
Liss’s nose wrinkled when he unwrapped it. Even from a few feet away, the sweet, fruity scent was cloying.
“Anyway,” he continued as he started to chew, “the scuttlebutt is that Norma and her boss remained friendly after they broke off the affair. From what I can learn, Palsgrave always managed to stay on good terms with his ex-ladies when he moved on.” Murch shook his head over the oddity of that. “I sure would expect there to be some jealousy, but if there was, I haven’t found it yet.”
“What about ex-girlfriends’ current love interests?”
Murch shrugged. “You sure you want me to go on with this investigation? It’s not that I’m trying to talk you out of keeping me on the payroll or anything, but it sounds to me like your father’s off the hook.”
“Franklin hasn’t said so yet.”
“He will,” Murch predicted.
“You didn’t answer my question. Did you find any suspicious husbands or boyfriends?”
“There is one possibility, but it’s a long shot.” Murch opened the door of the truck and reached inside for a file folder.
The light breeze that had been blowing Liss’s hair into her eyes while they talked now caught the contents as Murch opened the folder. One page, printed with a photograph, flew upward and straight into her hand. She clutched it, on the verge of laughter until she recognized the face looking up at her.
“I know this man.”
“Yeah? Where from?”
“That’s what I’m trying to remember. Who is he?”
“His name is Martin Edgerley. He’s a professor here at the college. He teaches philosophy, if you can believe that. I’d have thought that subject would have gone the way of Latin and Greek.”
Liss continued to stare at the printout. The face seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen him before. In the photograph he was staring directly at the camera. His arm was slung around the shoulders of a much younger woman. Liss assumed she was his daughter. Edgerley appeared to be in his fifties, with a receding hairline and salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes were a pale blue. His most distinctive feature was a hawklike nose. His build, she noted, was muscular enough to allow him to swing a broadsword.
“He’s the husband of Palsgrave’s most recent conquest,” Murch said. “See the girl? Her name is Gaylene. She was Edgerley’s student before she married him. Apparently, she likes older men. She took up with Palsgrave about three months ago.”
So, Liss thought—not Edgerley’s daughter, after all.
“I’m impressed, Mr. Murch,” she said aloud. “This is the first time I’ve heard anything about an affair with a married woman, and I thought I was fairly well plugged in to the gossip on campus.” She wondered how Melly had missed this tidbit. Or had she? Maybe she’d had reasons of her own not to share the information with Liss.
“I have a gift,” Murch said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “And good instincts. They’re telling me that Edgerley isn’t a likely suspect. He has no history of violence. Besides that, he seems to have known about his wife’s affair from the beginning. But if you saw him somewhere near Palsgrave, or near the sword—”
“That’s it!” Liss felt a surge of relief as the elusive memory surfaced. She tapped the photo. “This man was in Moosetookalook. He didn’t come into the shop, but he stood outside for a long time, his nose all but pressed to the window, staring at the display of weapons. I don’t remember exactly when it was, but I don’t suppose that matters. The important thing is that he knew the sword was there.”
“That’s pretty slight evidence to tie a man to murder.”
“It makes him a viable suspect, Murch. He needs to be investigated.”
“I’m already on it.” He tipped an imaginary hat to Liss and climbed back in to the cab of his truck.
Belatedly, another thought occurred to her. She banged on the passenger side window until he pushed the button to lower it. “Did you actually talk to Jones and Rowse, or just take that student’s word for it that they weren’t in the building?”
Murch blew an enormous pink bubble and let it pop before he answered her. “No and yes. You agreed with me that they were out of it, Ms. MacCrimmon.”
The window rolled back up before she could remind him that either or both of the demonstrators might have seen someone leave Lincoln Hall by the back door. Now that she knew the killer had not been carrying a sword, it seemed even more likely he’d exited the building that way. From a distance, any bloodstains on his clothing would not have been noticeable, but perhaps Rowse or Jones had seen him leave, or noticed his car as he drove away from the scene of the crime.
It was worth taking the time to ask.
Stopping only long enough to order something to eat at the drive-up window of a fast-food restaurant, Liss headed for Melly’s house. Her mother’s friend was just unloading groceries from the trunk of her car when Liss pulled in behind her in the driveway. Hastily polishing off the last French fry and wiping her fingers on a napkin, Liss killed the engine and got out.
Melly sent her a considering look. “Shouldn’t you be at home getting ready for your wedding?”
“Mom has everything well in hand.”
Melly headed for the side door. Liss grabbed the last two grocery bags, slammed the trunk closed, and followed her.
“Leave it up to Vi and you’re likely to end up with that handfasting, whether you want it or not.”
Liss gave a theatrical shudder. “I’m counting on Reverend Browne to fight that battle for me.”
“Vi can be very persuasive.” Melly waved Liss into the kitchen and started putting foodstuffs away.
Liss settled onto one of the tall kitchen stools and gave her mother’s friend an edited account of the day’s disclosures while she worked. She waited until Melly was folding the empty bags before she dropped Martin Edgerley’s name into the conversation.
“So, you heard about that,” Melly said.
“You already knew Palsgrave was having an affair with his wife?” Unspoken was an accusation: and you didn’t tell me?
Melly shrugged. “I know Martin pretty well. He’s just not a likely suspect, especially for such a violent murder. I didn’t want to cause him any trouble. Besides, the way I hear it, the affair with Palsgrave has been over for a while now. He got tired of Gaylene always clinging to him.”
“You don’t sound like you’re a fan of the wayward wife. What about this Gaylene as a suspect? Was she angry over being dumped?”
“I have no idea,” Melly said. “I’m friendly with Martin, not his wife.”
Liss thought about the photo Murch had shown her. Edgerley’s wife was skinny, with thin, weak-looking arms, although she was generously endowed in the bosom department. “Does Gaylene work out?” Liss asked Melly. If Gaylene went regularly to a gym, it was possible she had strength that wasn’t readily apparent.
/> Melly’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “Maybe you should ask her your questions directly. I can give you her address.”
Ten minutes later, Liss pulled up in front of a Cape with dormers. Gaylene Edgerley herself was in the front yard, watering a flower bed. She was wearing very short shorts and a crop top that left little to the imagination. And if she had any great strength in her arms, it was indeed well hidden. Still, Liss figured that, since she was there, she might as well talk to the woman. As one of Palsgrave’s former lovers, Gaylene might have some idea who had hated him enough to kill him.
“Mrs. Edgerley?” Liss called out as she crossed the perfectly manicured lawn.
Only when she got closer did she realize that the woman couldn’t hear her. Any sound but the music Gaylene was playing was blocked by her earphones. Gingerly, Liss tapped the woman on the shoulder.
Startled, Gaylene jumped. She turned, wild eyed and fist swinging. Liss barely ducked in time to prevent the other woman from planting a facer.
Hastily backing up, both hands held in front of her to ward off further blows, Liss tripped over the garden hose and nearly landed flat on her backside. She saved herself from the fall just in time, but it was at the expense of her weak knee. She heard it pop as she twisted her body to stay upright.
“Who the hell are you?” Gaylene demanded, ripping off her headset.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. My name is Liss MacCrimmon. I was wondering if I could ask you about—”
“Oh, no. No more questions.”
“More questions?” Liss echoed. Drat! Did that mean Murch had been here?
“Yes, more questions. First it was the police, and then that annoying man with the bubble gum, and now you. And I don’t know anything. So just leave me alone.”
“Did the police also question your husband?” Liss asked.
Gaylene’s face flushed, the change in color apparent even beneath her heavy application of makeup. Her eyes narrowed to slits. Liss backed up again, prepared to make a run for it. If ever she’d seen a woman who looked like she was about to explode, it was Gaylene Edgerley.
Liss would not have been surprised if Gaylene shoved her, or even clawed at her eyes. Instead, the potential for violence proved an impotent fury. Gaylene stamped her feet like a toddler getting ready to have a temper tantrum. Then she threw down the hose, still spewing water, and burst into tears. Before Liss could do or say anything, her quarry had fled into the house.
Mulling over Gaylene’s reaction, Liss found the outside spigot and turned off the water. Then she got back into her car and drove away.
Convinced that Murch did not intend to interview either John Jones or Barry Rowse, Liss glanced at her watch. She still had time before she needed to head back to Moosetookalook. She tried Rowse’s address first.
It was a storefront in the seedier section of Three Cities, on one of the streets near the old textile mill. Making blankets had once been a major industry but the factory had closed down decades ago and most of the buildings had stood empty ever since. Only one had been given new life as a minimall. Rowse’s store was several blocks away from that attempt at urban renewal. The siding on the building needed painting and the display window could have done with a good washing. Liss could barely read the letters that spelled out ROWSE AND SON USED FURNITURE AND HOUSEHOLD ITEMS.
The inside of the shop was a jumble of chairs, tables, and lamps. They were stacked on every side with reckless abandon. Liss followed what looked like a narrow aisle between towering piles of furniture. Mazelike, it wound back on itself several times before finally taking her to a display case with an antique cash register sitting on top of it.
“Hello?” she called, tentatively at first and then in a louder voice.
Like an apparition, a scarecrow of a man rose from behind the counter. He blinked at her with bloodshot eyes, frowning as he swiped at his long, unkempt hair, pushing it behind his ears. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“Mr. Rowse? Barry Rowse?” For some reason, Liss had expected him to be older, but the man behind the makeshift counter was somewhere in his midtwenties. She supposed he must be the “and son” advertised on the window.
Warily, he nodded.
“I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”
“What do you want to know?” His frown had morphed into a scowl.
Liss thought about turning around and leaving, answers be damned. Standing this close to him, she could tell that there was something not quite right about his pupils. Her best guess was that Rowse was taking drugs, and that made her nervous. On the other hand, she’d come this far. She might as well push ahead. She was pretty sure that if he turned violent, she could outrun him.
“I heard there was a Barry Rowse who’s interested in the Templar treasure,” she said. “Is that you?”
“Well, yeah,” he said, as if she should know that just by looking at him. “Would you believe there’s a guy at the college who thinks the dude only came here for the fish?”
“The dude? You mean Henry Sinclair?”
“Who else. Sinclair’s the man.” He leaned forward and gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Brought the treasure to the New World. Left a clue in the Newport Tower.”
At her blank look, he expanded on this. The Newport Tower, it seemed, was a structure in Newport, Rhode Island, that appeared to predate colonization by the English. Rowse thought Sinclair had built it. Liss didn’t care.
“You know the guy at the college got killed, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Forgot.” He scratched his ear.
“You were there that day,” Liss reminded him. “Picketing.”
He shrugged. “Guess so. Days run together sometimes.”
I’ll bet they do, Liss thought. “So you didn’t see anything? Maybe someone running away from the building?”
He started to giggle. “Wouldn’t turn him in even if I did. The dude deserved it for trashing my man Sinclair.”
Liss gave up. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll be going now.”
Rowse seemed unhinged enough to have killed Professor Palsgrave over the Sinclair debate, but aside from the fact that he clearly lacked the planning skills necessary to have framed her father, his arms were as skinny as the rest of him. He’d have trouble lifting one of the lamps he had for sale, never mind a broadsword.
Although she doubted she’d find out anything more this time than she had on her last visit, Liss returned to John Jones’s address before she headed home. She got lucky. A man with a dog on a leash was just coming out of the apartment. He didn’t look like a Native American. Then again, according to Gabe’s friend, he wasn’t one.
“Mr. Jones?” she hailed him.
Once again she was met with suspicion, but the out and out rudeness was absent. The dog, a cocker spaniel, seemed delighted to make a new friend. He pranced right up to Liss and rose onto his hind legs to put his front paws on her thigh. The next thing she knew, he had his nose in her crotch.
“Down, Tonto,” Jones said.
Liss knelt to pat the spaniel on the head. She looked up at Jones through her eyelashes, trying to assess him and decide the best way to proceed. He was of medium height and chubby, with dark eyes and hair, one of those people for whom nondescript was an accurate description.
“I understand you’ve written a book,” she said, remembering another of Gabe’s comments.
It was as if the sun had come out after a long rainy spell. Jones’s eyes sparkled. His mouth curved into a bright smile. Even his teeth gleamed. “Why, yes, I have,” he said.
Ten minutes later, Liss was the proud owner of ten copies of Norumbega Defiled, a collection of original poems that Jones claimed to have written after making contact with a distant ancestor during a séance. Liss had her doubts. And she thought it likely that all ten copies were destined for the Dumpster.
“You’re familiar with the place-name Norumbega, of course,” Jones said.
“That’s the old name for New England,” Liss rep
lied, grateful for the course in Maine history every student in her middle school had been required to take.
Jones seemed more interested in the distant past than in the present. It took a little doing to turn the conversation to the day of the murder. When Liss finally managed it, she was pleasantly surprised to discover that Jones was far and away the most observant of the four demonstrators.
He had seen her father go in and come out again. He was certain Mac’s clothing had been free of bloodstains and that he had not been carrying a sword.
He had noticed Gabe and guessed that he was there to keep an eye on his grandfather.
He reluctantly admitted that he thought Barry Rowse was high on drugs.
He recalled that Louis Amalfi had gone into Lincoln Hall to use the men’s room and come out again within minutes, and that this had occurred before Mac arrived.
He had seen Palsgrave’s students leave the building, but not Palsgrave.
He’d seen Willa arrive, talk to Gabe, and go into Lincoln Hall. He’d heard her come out again.
“She was screaming like a banshee,” he said as he and Liss walked Tonto down the street to a small park.
Jones had left the little dog in her care, waiting on the sidewalk in front of his building, while he’d gone back inside for the books. Now he held the leash and she carried the thin, overpriced volumes. They were clothbound with garish covers. Never in a million years would they sell to her usual clientele.
“So Gabe Treat never left his post and never went inside Lincoln Hall?” Liss prompted when Jones failed to add anything else.
“Not that I saw.”
She nodded. She’d hoped she could exclude Gabe as a suspect. This went a long way toward allowing her to do so.
“Did you notice anyone else around, anyone you recognized?”
He shrugged. “Students. Professors. I don’t know everyone’s names.”
“But you know some?”
“I’ve taken a few classes on campus—they offer what they call adult enrichment programs from time to time. Oddball stuff. Theater of the Absurd. Classics of Science Fiction. A seminar on the life of William Faulkner. Now there was a weird guy. Did you know that he never answered a question the same way twice? My guess is that he just lied about everything personal because he figured his private life was nobody’s business but his own. That was an interesting class. So was the one I took in ancient religions from Dr. Edgerley.”
Bagpipes, Brides and Homicides (Liss Maccrimmon Scottish Mysteries) Page 21