Passport to Murder

by Mary Angela

  “Bennett seemed to think she came in contact with a peanut,” I said. “And as you know, she was severely allergic. But I don’t think anyone is sure yet what happened. We will probably find out more information tomorrow after the medical examiner has inspected Molly’s body.”

  At the word body, Amanda shivered, and I changed topics.

  “What a day,” I said, leaning against the bed pillows and stretching my legs out in front of me. “I wonder how the other girls are faring. Do you know Meg and Olivia?”

  Kat and Amanda exchanged a snort.

  “Olivia and I were in Professor Jaspers’ Western civ class last spring,” said Amanda. “She hates me. I got an A, but she flunked. That’s why she’s not in the sorority anymore.”

  I frowned. “So what does that have to do with you?”

  She looked at Kat, and Kat nodded, silently assuring her that she could trust me. “I don’t want her to get in trouble, so please don’t say anything, but she wanted to cheat off my exams. Of course I said no. There was no way I was going to chance ruining my good relationship with Dr. Jaspers. She took me on an expedition to New Mexico with grad students.”

  “How cool is that?” said Kat.

  “Very cool,” I agreed. “You did the right thing. Abetting a cheater could have besmirched your permanent record.”

  “That’s what I said,” Kat agreed. “Well, not in those words,” she added with a laugh.

  Kat’s phone buzzed, and the girls began to chat about the text. It must have been something funny because they shared a chuckle. I reached for my canvas tote beside the bed, rummaging for some reading material. Nothing looked appealing. The truth was, I didn’t feel like reading. I felt as restless as Aaron and Jace. The anticipation I felt for Paris hadn’t gone away just because Molly was dead. I yearned for some sort of release that couldn’t be found in a book.

  I pulled out my worn leather journal. Writing had always provided relief in the past. As a young girl and only child, I invented things about people or places in my neighborhood in Detroit as a way to make things better, easier. For most of the families, problems were real, insurmountable, inescapable. Reading and writing were the only tangible ways to make them disappear, if only for an hour. As I grew older, an hour became two, and undergrad became grad school, and one day I had my PhD in literature. I realized then, the world I lived in could be largely of my own creation.

  Tonight, though, the words wouldn’t come. I bent my knees, creating a table of my lap, and removed my pen cap, poised to write. I took a deep breath. I readjusted my pillow. I looked over at Amanda and Kat, who were on their phones. I scratched my head, put down the pen, and thumbed through the last few pages. I stopped and flipped back to yesterday’s entry. That’s right: Lenny was in Minneapolis tonight, playing at First Avenue! I looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was just nine o’clock. I could still hear him play and talk over what had happened on the plane.

  I glanced again at Amanda and Kat. Should I leave them alone? They were both adults; the university wouldn’t allow students under eighteen to travel because, while faculty members chaperoned planned stops and events, group members didn’t spend all their time together. But after today, I wanted to get their okay.

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go out for a little while,” I said, hopping down from the bed and walking toward the vanity mirror. “I could use some air.”

  “We don’t mind at all,” Kat said a little too quickly. Perhaps she welcomed the chance to talk to Amanda alone without her professor eavesdropping. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to see a friend who happens to be in town playing at First Avenue.”

  Amanda looked surprised. “You have a friend performing in Minneapolis?”

  “Friend and colleague. You might know him, too. Professor Jenkins? From English? He plays guitar.”

  “Cool,” said Kat. “I love live music, but I couldn’t move ten steps right now. I’m wiped.”

  I asked them what they planned to do, and they both agreed they wanted to stay in and rest after the long day. I didn’t blame them. If I hadn’t been so puzzled by the death of Molly Jaspers, I would have stayed in too. But my curious nature always got the better of me, and I looked forward to the prospect of talking over the events with Lenny. The girls, on the other hand, were excited about ordering room service later, which I found endearing. I had forgotten how fun it could be to browse a hotel menu, pondering the array of choices available in a big city restaurant.

  I stood up and gathered my makeup bag from my luggage while the girls looked on. At the vanity, I picked through my curls, happy to be released from the up-do. I sprayed a few squirts of hairspray near the top of my head and smoothed the hairs that stood straight up. Then I applied a fresh coat of eyeliner and exchanged my blazer for a leather jacket. A pair of large silver hoops completed my attempt at club attire.

  I grabbed a room key and zipped it in my purse. “I won’t be late,” I said. Then I wrote my cellphone number on the complimentary notepad. “If you need anything, just call. And of course, André is right next door.”

  “We’ll be totally fine,” said Kat. “You look great, by the way.”

  “Really? Thank you,” I said.

  Amanda agreed, nodding beneath her drape of blonde hair. A bang trim would really do wonders for the girl, I thought as I slipped on my shoes. It was hard to read a person who had so much hair in her eyes. I couldn’t tell if she was really feeling better.

  The door barely sounded as it closed gently behind me, a tiny click in the silent hall. Then I was off to surprise Lenny.

  Chapter Seven

  First Avenue wasn’t far from Eighth Street, less than a mile, but it took the cab driver several spins and turns around the corners of one-way streets to land at our destination. Although I normally would have found a walk invigorating, when I spotted a cab parked outside the hotel, I jumped in to save time. It was after nine o’clock, and I didn’t want to miss Lenny’s band.

  As I stepped out of the cab, I took a welcome breath of fresh air, even though it was frosty cold. The energy surrounding the bar was palpable as music lovers congregated in front of the round building. The whole scene gave off a Saturday night vibe and revitalized my spirit. I had seen the black structure before, just never this close up. My knowledge of the place boiled down to one fact and one fact only: Prince had his start here. Ever since then, many young artists had come here with the same hope—to be discovered. They had even etched their names in the white stars that lighted up the sides of the building with contrasting paint. This was the “it” place to be in the Midwest for musicians, and frankly, as I paid my cover charge and took in the enormity of the stage, I was surprised Lenny had been invited to play such a prestigious gig, even if only in a warm-up band. The headliners called themselves The Ice-Cold Undertakers, according to the tarp that hung behind the stage.

  From the looks of it, I had just missed the opening numbers and, thankfully, what must have been a snaking line outside. There were at least a hundred people pressed against the foot of the stage—perhaps more. I got as close to the stage as I could, which wasn’t close.

  Lenny was on the left side, near an enormous speaker, the bright stage lights streaming down from the ceiling like rays of smoky sunlight. He wore a black T-shirt and tight blue jeans and looked very much the part of a rock star with his spiky blond hair and nine-o’clock shadow. No one in this crowd would have guessed he was a professor. But I knew how good a musician he was. I had heard him play at bars, bashes, and Christmas parties. His playing went beyond hobby. He radiated pure talent, a quality that, unlike literature, couldn’t be taught in a book.

  The music pulsated through my body, the drumbeat taking the place of my heartbeat, and it felt good to be somewhere loud. It pushed out every single thought in my head, including the one of Paris. I was happy to be here, watching a very good friend perform. His fingers slid up and down the guitar as if they were part of
the instrument, and I wondered how he worked without the benefit of sheet music. Some people were born with that ability, I guessed. They just knew what to do.

  Lenny and the band began to build to something, and although I wasn’t familiar with the songs, I could tell they were prepping the crowd for the main act, The Ice-Cold Undertakers. The beat grew steadier and more repetitive, and the stage lights turned colors. The volume of the audience rose in anticipation; they were jumping up and down to the refrain. Smoke began to billow from the stage, and four men emerged in death’s-heads. The effect was ghostly, but the crowd wasn’t shaken. Girls screamed as if at a boy-band concert. When the smoke cleared and the Undertakers began to play, I noted Lenny and the opening group had disappeared from the stage altogether. My heart sank as I scanned the crowd; he had to be backstage.

  I managed to get to the bar with a bit of effort, moving in the opposite direction of the crowd. Their bodies formed a dense wall, fortunately one with cracks I could sneak through. The small, open space at the bar was a welcome relief. I smiled at the bartender and ordered a beer.

  As he poured from the tap, I said, “I know one of the guys in the opening band. Can you tell me how I can get backstage?”

  He placed my beer on the counter, his massive arm a sleeve of tattoos. I especially admired the hourglass covered in thorns. Had we been in a quieter venue, I might have remarked on its metaphorical meaning.

  “You know one of the guys, huh?” A large grin spread his thick goatee and revealed a beautiful set of straight, white teeth.

  He didn’t believe me. I handed him my cash. “Yes, Lenny Jenkins, the guitar player. He’s a good friend of mine.”

  He took the money and punched some keys on the register. “Look, sweetheart, if you want to see your friend, I suggest you call him.” He slapped my change on the counter.

  “That would be a good idea except for the high-decibel noise level.” I took a drink of my beer, which was on the warm side of lukewarm. “If you would point me in the direction of the dressing rooms, I could wait outside.”

  He shook his head and pointed to a plain door at the left. “Dressing rooms?” He laughed. “They come out over there.”

  I left my change on the counter. “Thank you.”

  I walked toward the door, but I knew by the size of the two gentlemen standing outside, I would not be allowed to enter. Their shirts didn’t say Security, but their crossed arms certainly did. Although the general scene was one of complete chaos, the two men stood apart from their surroundings, calm and serene. I had a feeling they sensed my presence the moment I entered their space, though neither looked directly at me.

  Before I could devise a nefarious plan to get past the men, Lenny burst through the door covered in sweat and bristling with excitement.

  “Lenny!” I called out.

  He stopped, looking left and right; then his face lit up at the sight of me.

  We came together in a matter of seconds. Caught up in the rock-and-roll atmosphere, I threw my arms around his shoulders, and he returned my affection with a squeeze of my waist.

  His hands still resting on my hips, he regarded me from head to toe. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be halfway to Paris by now.”

  “It’s a long story,” I said with a smile. “First, let me say you were great out there. Electrifying.”

  “You saw me?” he said, leading me to a quieter corner. “When did you get here?”

  “About fifteen minutes ago,” I said.

  He looked off in the direction of the crowd, and I knew he was thinking back to his performance.

  “You want to go listen to the band?”

  He refocused on me. “Nah. I’d rather hear what the hell happened to Paris. You want to get out of here?”

  “I am kind of hungry,” I said.

  “Come on. There’s a pizza joint not far from here.” He took my hand and pulled me in the direction of the entrance. As we walked past the bar, I flashed a smile at the bartender, nodding toward Lenny. He gave me a wave with his bar rag.

  The night air was exhilarating as we walked two blocks to the brick building with the red and white glowing Pizza La Vista sign. Inside, the pizzeria was packed with people grabbing a bite on their way to or from the bar. Two wooden-slat booths opened at the same time, and we made a beeline for the one closest to the window. Street watching would be better than staring at the white walls, which could only be described as drab. There was no décor, unless you counted the neon lights that shouted OPEN, PIZZA, and ATM. Only the half-drunk patrons colored the atmosphere, many of them laughing or talking loudly, but I was happy to be away from the dour travel group and immersed in a carefree crowd.

  Lenny squinted at the menu on the long whiteboard above the order counter. “I’m dying to know what you’re doing sitting across from me, but we gotta order first. I’m starving. Medium? Large?” he asked.

  “Medium should be fine. What about a supreme?”

  He smiled. “That’s right. You like a lot of stuff on your pizza.”

  “True,” I said, “but I’m up for anything.”

  He unzipped his jacket, taking his wallet out of the side pocket. “I’m easy.”

  “Hey, we can split it.” I started digging through my purse.

  “I got it,” he said, standing to go place our order. “A free pizza’s not Paris, but it’s something.”

  I watched him order our food, stopping at the cooler to pull out a couple of sodas. I nodded and smiled as he held up the Coke cans. I was so glad I had found him. Although I was staying among faculty members, I didn’t know them nearly as well as I knew Lenny. Other than André, I’d had only passing conversations with my colleagues on the trip. None of them were from the English Department, where most of my time was spent, and none of them were involved with the same projects I was. But Lenny and I had grown close in our tight-knit department.

  Lenny slid my soda across the table and sat down, our eyes really meeting for the first time that night. “So, what the hell happened on the way to Paris? Someone must have died.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  His face fell. “Oh god. Someone did die.”

  “Molly Jaspers, from the History Department,” I said.

  Lenny paled. “The eco-nut? Jeez. What happened?”

  I passed out the paper napkins and plates he had brought back with the sodas. “She died midflight… from a peanut allergy, we think. She was deathly allergic to them.”

  “Were peanuts on the flight?” he asked. “I know some airlines avoid them altogether now.”

  I nodded. “Despite protests from Bennett, her husband.”

  He shook his head. “So I suppose he’ll sue the shit out of the airlines.”

  I took a sip of my pop. “I have no idea. The entire group is staying in a hotel on Eighth Street tonight.”

  “What a way to spend spring break,” said Lenny.

  “I think I’d rather be home grading papers.” I laughed.

  Lenny drank half his soda with one large swig. “Not me. I’d rather face an inquest than read through my survey class’s papers. They’ve been a train wreck this semester.”

  I gave him a sympathetic look, and we sat in silence for a few minutes. We were both contemplating the situation, or at least I was. He might have been contemplating anything. I took another sip of Coke. “Don’t you think it’s a little odd that Molly Jaspers died of a peanut allergy when everyone knew she was allergic to them?”

  He shrugged. “Not really, considering everyone on the plane had a bag of them. Peanut allergies can be pretty serious. They make the throat totally seize up.”

  “I wonder…” I said.

  He rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”

  An employee appeared with our pizza, plopping it between us and shoving a spatula beneath one of the pieces before dashing off. Lenny took the spatula and served me a large droopy piece, his eyes still studying me.

  I sprinkled my pizza with hot peppers, well
aware of Lenny’s persistent stare. “You have to admit the whole thing is rather odd. Everyone knew the woman was allergic to peanuts because Bennett protested when the stewardess passed them out. Molly didn’t take any peanuts, and neither did Bennett. And then Molly goes into anaphylactic shock? It’s all very unusual if you ask me.”

  Lenny took the pepper shaker and shook it liberally as he spoke. “It’s talk like that, Prather, that’s going to keep you in Minneapolis all week. You know how cops feed off people’s vibes, and your vibe right now reads SUSPECT.”

  I nodded. “Exactly… that’s what I’m saying. I could be a suspect. I ordered the peanuts.”

  “I bet André is bummed,” he said.

  I loved it when he tried to change the subject. He was so obvious. But I nodded anyway, unable to speak with a mouthful of pizza. The vegetables were fresh and the crust thick and buttery. I swallowed, delicately dabbing my mouth with my napkin. “That’s the worst of it. André doesn’t know it yet, but the police suspect him. He had an argument with Molly in the airport that everyone overheard.”

  “André? That’s nuts… no pun intended.”

  I chuckled.

  “Well, if they had any proof, they would have arrested him,” he said, finishing his soda. “So until they come at him with the handcuffs, I would keep my opinions to myself.”

  I opened my mouth and then shut it. He had a point. The university would have enough trouble as it was, dealing with an unexpected accident on a sponsored trip. At least no one had thought to take out their phones. Otherwise, Molly’s picture might have been all over Facebook.

  “Where are you staying again?” he asked.

  It took me a moment to remember the name. “The Normandy Inn.”

  “Oh sure. I know that place.” Lenny’s brow furrowed. “Are you rooming with—”

  “Kat and Amanda,” I interrupted. “Students in André’s French class. Kat’s in my creative writing class, too.”

  His face relaxed. “Right. Of course. You have students with you.”