Passport to Murder

by Mary Angela

  “That one,” said Lenny.

  I touched the link, and slowly Skylar’s picture began to populate the screen. The first thing we noticed was his bright red hair.

  “They have to be related!” I said as I began to scroll through the obituary. “It says he was a history major at Copper Bluff. Survived by his brothers… sister… parents. Tom and Jean Erickson.”

  We stared at each other for several seconds.

  “What do you know,” said Lenny.

  “The red-haired woman is his mother.”

  “Do you think she blamed Molly for her son’s death?”

  I nodded. “That’s exactly what I think. He was a history major, and she failed him in what must have been a critical course.”

  “Yeah, but lots of people failed. They didn’t kill themselves. You heard that student.”

  “Amanda. I know. There must be more to the story.”

  I was already writing it. Jean Erickson was crazed with grief; it showed in her sallow skin, her dry hair, her thin body. She sent her son to a good university, and instead of an education, he was given a failing grade. He gave up. Someone would pay for failing him, and that someone was Molly Jaspers.

  I looked up and noticed Lenny studying me. The light from the streetlamp illuminated his lips and chin; the rest of his face was in the dark. The result was dangerously handsome. His lips curled into a smile.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  I looked at the hotel and then back at him. His teeth were perfectly straight. “I am thinking about, um, you know, everything.”

  “Everything? You know you’re an open book?”

  “I assure you, you have no idea what I’m thinking.” And I doubted he did. I couldn’t imagine that he could guess that I found myself wondering what it would feel like to kiss him.

  “Oh yeah?” he said, moving one foot forward. “Should we put that theory to the test?”

  “I don’t think so,” I whispered but didn’t move. My heart grew louder and louder until its beating filled my ears. My lips scarcely parted, but the movement was enough for Lenny to tilt his head toward mine.

  Suddenly I heard footsteps and laughter. Aaron pulled Jace from the front door of the hotel.

  “You cheated,” Aaron said.

  “No, I didn’t. I’m faster than you. Just admit it,” said the long-legged Jace.

  The boys shoved each other back and forth in a playful way. I took a step back, and they realized we were at the curb. Aaron dropped his hands to his sides, and Jace pulled open the door. Olivia, Meg, and Kat weren’t far behind, with Nick and Amanda trailing by several steps.

  “So I guess I’ll go,” said Lenny.

  “Yes, me too,” I said louder than I intended.

  “Will you still be in Minneapolis tomorrow?”

  “Until eleven. That’s when the bus takes off. But I want to tell Ernest what we found on Jean Erickson before we go. Do you want to come with me?”

  “You mean, will I take you to the police station? Sure. Why not. I’ll call you in the morning,” he said as he got back into his car. “Turn on your phone.”

  I waved. “Of course.”

  As I walked toward the hotel, I noticed Kat lingering by the door, waiting for Amanda. But Amanda and Nick didn’t seem to notice her. They didn’t notice me either. They were absorbed in conversation, and I doubted they knew anyone else existed right now.

  “Hey, Professor Prather,” said Kat. “I really liked dinner. It was cool.”

  “It was good, wasn’t it?” I said. “Even if we didn’t get to France, we did get to try some authentic French food.” I nodded toward Nick and Amanda. “What’s that about?”

  Her face turned nonchalant. “What’s what? They’re both fossil geeks.”

  Amanda noted Kat’s voice and quickened her pace. “Sorry. Are you waiting for me?” She was distressed, if not by the news of Skylar’s suicide, then by her amorous conversation with Nick. She knew I had noticed.

  I held open the door. “No, not at all. I just got here.” We paused for a moment in the lobby. “Last night of vacation.”

  “What about the police?” said Nick.

  I shrugged. I wasn’t about to admit that I planned on talking to them tomorrow. “I don’t know. André told them about our plans to leave.”

  “It’s ridiculous, if you ask me,” said Nick. “They shouldn’t even be involved. It was a very unfortunate accident. The rest is all conjecture.”

  “Well, not quite all,” I said.

  “So you agree someone is responsible for her death?” said Nick, starting toward the elevator.

  Kat and Amanda looked at me for the answer.

  “I’m not saying that. The police are.”

  We walked the rest of the way to the elevator in silence.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Monday morning was cloudy, and the threat of snow lorded over my thoughts. What if we couldn’t get out? Spring in the Midwest could be elusive; snow could still bring plans to a standstill. After a few weeks of warm sunshine, it could turn gray and dark, extending winter into the late month of May. Maybe the weather mimicked life, or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, Midwesterners had little choice but to persevere, not just for days but generations.

  I checked the window again, straining to see as far as I could into the steely clouds. No flakes—yet. It was nine o’clock, and Amanda and Kat were still sleeping. I was amazed that anyone could sleep through the noise of my hairdryer, but they pulled off that feat without a single stir. They had come back to the room late last night after having met the other students down by the pool. At least that was what they had said. If anything, the impromptu pool party gave Amanda an excuse to meet with Nick in private. But I didn’t care about that relationship, at least not today. I was more concerned about her relationship with Skylar and how it related to Jean Erickson.

  I opened the drapes, but with the thick clouds, the room barely brightened. I continued to pull until the large window was fully exposed. Still, Amanda and Kat didn’t move. I coughed and cleared my throat. Nothing. I started digging through my purse, which was more like a suitcase, for my lip balm. I had the perfect shade of pink that would match my linen sweater, and finding it would make enough noise to wake the dead. Sure enough, halfway through my quest, Amanda turned over and moaned. It was enough for me to start a conversation. I wanted to inform them I was leaving and remind them what time we were departing for Copper Bluff, provided we could beat the snow out of town.

  “Oh, good morning, Amanda.”

  She mumbled, “Is it late?”

  Kat rolled over and put her pillow over her head.

  “Just nine o’clock,” I said. “I have a meeting to go to today, so I got up early and showered.”

  She rubbed her eyes and looked at her phone, which was charging next to her bedside. She propped herself up on one elbow. “When are you going?”

  “Soon. Lenny is picking me up.”

  “Professor Jenkins?”

  “Yes, Professor Jenkins. The musician from Minneapolis.”

  She smiled. “I didn’t know you guys were a thing.”

  I sat down on the edge of the bed. “Oh, we’re not. We’re not a thing.”

  “Okay,” she said, but she didn’t believe me.

  Her comment on my relationship with Lenny gave me the opportunity to follow up on Skylar. “What about the boy Olivia mentioned at dinner? Skylar? Were you a ‘thing’?”

  “No. Not even close. Olivia just said that because Nick…” she stopped short. “Olivia and I used to be friends. When we took that class together, everything changed. Then she flunked—and blamed me. She ended up getting kicked out of her sorority because of her low GPA.”

  She shook her head and continued, “Skylar quit coming to class. But I had no idea….” Her eyes shone with tears.

  “I’m sorry, Amanda. Were you close to him?”

  “I was, but more intellectually than anything. He was smart
. He was well-read. I liked talking to him about things. I can’t believe he killed himself. He seemed so interested in everything, in life.”

  “Did Professor Jaspers like him?”

  She nodded. “She did. Especially at first. But then when he kept slacking off, she told him he didn’t have the ‘academic rigor’ to pursue the degree. He just quit coming to class afterwards.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “That’s a little harsh.”

  Her voice turned defensive. “Professor Jaspers was like that. She expected a lot from her students, and we expected a lot from her.”

  “Would a comment about his academic performance affect him in that way? Was he sensitive to criticism?” I asked.

  “No. No way. He was a smart guy. He respected her. And besides, it sounds like he moved off campus.”

  I thought some of her opinion had to do with her friendship with Skylar and some of it with her admiration for Molly Jaspers. I couldn’t imagine her believing anything sinister about one of her professors.

  My phone began to ring, and I rifled through my bag. “I just put that thing in here. How could it have sunk to the bottom… ah ha! Hello?”

  It was Lenny.

  “Hey, I was about to give up.”

  “No, my phone is fully charged and in my front purse pocket… or it will be when we hang up.”

  He laughed. “I’m on my way. I will be there in fifteen minutes or so.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “That gives me enough time to talk to André about the bus.”

  “I’ll text when I get there.”

  “Okay,” I said and ended the call. “That was Lenny,” I said to Amanda. “I’d better talk to André before I leave. I want to make sure we’re still scheduled to leave at eleven.”

  “Hey, let me know, will you? Text me?” she asked. “I’m going to start getting ready.”

  “Of course.” I grabbed my coat off the back of the hotel chair. Then I walked next door, to André and Arnold’s room, hoping both men were up and decently dressed. I knocked.

  “One moment,” André called from behind the wooden door. After a minute, he pulled it open. “Emmeline! It’s you. Come in, come in.”

  His hair was slick from the shower, and his red shirt clung to his damp shoulders. The room smelled of expensive cologne, and the sound of the shower whirred in the background.

  “Arnold is in there,” said André, indicating the bathroom door, “and Aaron is in there,” pointing toward the bedroom. “The boy snores like the bear, and we don’t sleep.” He rubbed his eyes.

  “I bet you can’t wait to get home. Neither can I. Please tell me we haven’t been canceled because of the forecast.”

  “No. I have just confirmed with the bus company. Voilà! We still leave at eleven o’clock, check-out time at the Normandy Inn.”

  I clapped my hands. “Thank god. Have you told Dean Richardson?”

  He nodded. “Yes, I have. He was glad to hear it. He said he has had many phone calls from parents the last two days.”

  “I bet,” I said. André had answered more than a few of them himself.

  “I will have everybody ready by check-out time.” He glanced at my coat. “What are your plans? You are on your way out?”

  I didn’t want to confide in André; he had enough troubles without worrying about why I was going back to the police station. What was important was getting to the bottom of Molly’s death and clearing his name. Only that would solve his problems. “Lenny is picking me up, but I will be back at eleven… sharp.”

  He ran his fingers through his wet hair, and a few dark locks scattered about his forehead. “You and Lenny. You are good friends.”

  It wasn’t a question, but it felt like one. “Yes, we are, I suppose.”

  “You two are so different from each other,” he said.

  “That’s for certain.”

  I thought he was going to say something else, but he said, “It is good to have good friends, especially at a time like this. I look back on the last two days and cannot believe what’s happened.” He glanced toward the window and shook off his melancholy. “I hope the day is propitious for travel.”

  I gestured toward the open curtain. “I don’t know. It looks like snow, doesn’t it?”

  He opened the door for me. “Do not say that word, Em. To me, it is a four-letter word.”

  I chuckled. “I’ll catch up with you later.” After texting Amanda to confirm our departure time, I walked down the hall and into the elevator. Downstairs, I was happy to see a coffee carafe placed in the lobby—until I realized it was empty. After listening to it sputter for a few seconds, I gave up and tossed the cup in the garbage.

  Lenny was waiting in his car outside the building. I tied my coat, opened the door, and leaned into the wind.

  “I was just texting you. Where are your fuzzy mittens?” asked Lenny.

  “I didn’t think I’d need them. I thought I’d be halfway around the world by now,” I said. In the winter, I didn’t travel anywhere without earmuffs and mittens. I’d heard on the news once that frostbite could occur within five minutes in extreme wind chills.

  I buckled my seatbelt, pulled down the visor, and flipped open the mirror. The wind had instantly volumized my hair, making it appear as if it had grown five inches—straight out. “This is exactly why I don’t wear it down,” I mumbled, smoothing it.

  “Prather, are you worried about your hair?” asked Lenny.

  “No, I just want to look… professional.”

  “Ah. Professional. I’ve seen that look on you… once, before your review,” he chided. “I think it’s charming that you think a ponytail can make or break you.”

  “If you were a woman, you’d understand. You wouldn’t believe how often we’re judged on our appearances. If that FBI agent is there, I want to be ready. I got the feeling he suspects me of something. Besides, I need coffee. The carafe in the lobby was empty. Can we stop?”

  Lenny calmly pulled into traffic. “I think you’re nervous. I think you want to make a good impression on Mr. FBI.”

  I glared at him. “Can we get coffee or not?”

  He laughed. “All right. And don’t worry. You look great. I love it when you wear your hair down.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  He looked over at me. “Really.”

  After securing two large cups of coffee through the Dunn Brothers drive-thru, we headed toward the police station. While driving, we talked about last night’s dinner and whether or not Jean Erickson had anything to do with Molly’s murder. Lenny doubted that she had gotten close enough to Molly to contaminate her, and I argued that she had. Furthermore, she had confused Molly and me because of our curly hair and had been looking for Molly when we boarded the plane. She could have contaminated her before we were seated.

  “I don’t know, Em. You said nobody knew she had an allergy until the snacks were passed out,” said Lenny.

  “Yes, well, she might have googled it before the flight.”

  Lenny raised one eyebrow, a skill I often tried to imitate. “Could she really google Molly’s allergies?”

  “My students google everything. Besides, maybe Skylar told his mom about Molly’s allergy,” I said, making a mental note to ask Amanda if Molly had mentioned her allergy in class.

  “Maybe,” he said, looking skeptical. “But what about André? Did you see how red-faced he got over his brothers? He’s just crazy enough to go off. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

  I took a long drink of my coffee. “He’s not crazy; he’s passionate. But you’re right. The land seems to have quite a bit to do with the grapes. Still, André had a lot riding on this trip. If he wanted to kill her, I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t have done it months ago. Why wait until now?”

  He laughed. “So you don’t doubt that he’s capable of killing. You doubt the timing? That’s so like you.”

  “Well, I’m just saying that the timing is highly unlikely.”

  Lenny parked in
front of the police station. “I hope we’re not here all day. Believe it or not, I had plans for my spring break, none that included spending time at a cop shop.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll be in and out. We leave at eleven o’clock for Copper Bluff, and that’s one meeting I’m not going to miss. André confirmed with the bus company this morning.”

  I opened the car door slowly so that it wouldn’t be taken by the wind. Then I jumped out and gave it a slam. Lenny was already holding open the door to the police station.

  Inside, people packed the lobby. Young, middle-aged, old—the assemblage was loud and diverse. If we looked out of place, there was no indication. Nobody bothered to glance at us when we walked in, and I felt confident as I walked up to the window, no longer new to the inside of a police station.

  “Good morning,” I said. “I am here to see Ernest Jones.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” the young officer asked.

  “Kind of,” I said. “My name is Emmeline Prather. I texted him last night.”

  The front-desk officer pushed a few numbers on his phone, then said, “Emmeline Prather is here to see you. She said you’re expecting her. Okay.” He hung up the phone. “He’ll be right out.”

  A moment later, Ernest came through the double doors, looking harried. “It’s a Monday, isn’t it?” He held open one of the doors, tucking in his shirt. “I’ve had three calls already. Haven’t even had breakfast.”

  “Or finished dressing,” Lenny added.

  We walked through the metal detectors to the same interrogation room from Sunday. This time, it was dark; Jack Wood and the FBI agent were nowhere in sight.

  Ernest flipped on the light. “We’ll have a little more privacy in here. My desk is no place to have a conversation right now.” He pulled a Snickers candy bar out of his front shirt pocket and began opening the wrapper. Motioning for Lenny and me to sit across from him, he said, “So you said in your text you had some news about Jean Erickson.” He took a big bite of his candy bar.

  I nodded and proceeded to tell him about Amanda and Olivia’s conversation at dinner. “When I realized Skylar’s last name was the same as the red-haired woman’s, I googled the student. He was her son.”