by Mary Angela
A noise came from the crowd, and I looked over at Kat. She was whispering something to Amanda. When she saw me looking at her, she said, “But why, Professor? What was the motive? It seemed like he loved his wife a lot.”
I nodded. “It seemed that way, didn’t it? But the truth was, Bennett Jaspers was sick of funding his wife’s expeditions with other men. He was willing to tolerate it, though, until her actions were about to affect his bottom line. Then he decided to do what any good businessman of the diabolical variety would do: kill her midflight to collect on what insurance companies call double indemnity. The beneficiary receives twice the amount of the policy—double when the death is deemed an accident. Of course this looked like a tragic accident to everyone, even me. Until I discovered that Bennett’s company was the one contracted with the Midwest Connect pipeline to make the sensors for the entire line. Her nixing of the pipeline, a stance many of us applauded, would have meant dramatic losses for his company and a direct bite out of the hand that fed her pet projects. Nick guessed at the company’s involvement; I heard as much on the bus ride home. That’s why he was adamant about setting up Molly’s fund immediately after the visitation. In effect, he was calling Bennett’s bluff, and now so are we.”
All eyes were on Bennett, and he looked from me to Officer Beamer to the assembly. He circled the room with the motion of his hand. “Only here could something like this happen. If we were in a place of business,” he pursed his lips and ground out, “never. It would never happen. You wouldn’t dare to call me a murderer to my face in front of my employees. I’m the president of a company, a CEO. But you….” Here he looked directly at me. “That means nothing to you. To any of you. It’s like you live in another world.”
Officer Beamer winked at me. “They get that a lot.”
I smiled, and Beamer approached Bennett with his handcuffs. The officers stationed at the door moved forward.
“I want a lawyer,” said Bennett.
Epilogue
As Kat finished reading the last words of her story Friday morning, several students clapped, even though we never did that in class. But I didn’t say anything to reprimand them. I’d enjoyed Kat’s mystery, and if I weren’t her professor, I would have applauded too. As it was, I didn’t want to show unfair preference for her writing. Students could become incensed when they felt one piece was preferred over another, and the truth was, I had enjoyed all their stories this semester. They had opened up a brand-new chapter in my career.
“I read that nobody believes in heroes anymore, least of all women,” said Claire. Her voice was tinged with irritation. “That’s why books like Gone Girl are such big hits. Authors just kill people; they don’t have some man with a gun come in at the end and save the day.”
One of the girls sitting next to Kat said, “But this was a woman.”
Another said, “And she didn’t have a gun.”
“Professor Prather, what do you think?” asked Kat. Her hazel eyes were gray and searching for reassurance.
I came out from behind the podium and sat down in one of the chairs facing the students. “I’ve read the article in the Atlantic, too, Claire, and I understand why those books are popular.”
And I did. Violence begets violence, and the world could be a cruel place, especially to women. Writers needed to express the anger that had been suppressed for so long, had been told wasn’t natural, wasn’t feminine. And maybe heroes were myths, throwbacks to fairytales and fables, like Olivia said. Or maybe they were as real as you and me. Who was I to say?
What I did say was, “There’s room for all types of writing, books with heroes and books without. If Kat’s truth includes a well-informed heroine and a hunch, then so be it. Her truth is to reassert order amid the chaos, and we can’t begrudge her that.”
The class was content with this answer.
“So what are you going to call it?” Jason asked Kat.
A couple of students called out suggestions.
Her eyes sparkled green. “I already have a title. I’m going to call it ‘Thirteen for Murder.’ ”
I clapped. She really did have a future in mystery writing.
* * *
Julie Prairie Photography
Mary Angela is the author of the Professor Prather Mystery series. She is also a teacher and has taught English and humanities at the University of South Dakota and the University of Sioux Falls. An active member of Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America, she enjoys reading, traveling, and spending time with her family.
For more information about Mary or the series, go to www.MaryAngelaBooks.com.
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