Back To School Murder #4 (19 page)

“You've done a lot, just by visiting and bringing those letters. I'm going to enjoy reading them.” He got up, and the guard who had been observing them opened the door for him. He stepped through, and it clanged shut behind him.

Lucy got up and went to the door. She reached for the knob, only to discover that there wasn't any. She pushed against the door, assuming it was the swinging kind, but it did not yield. She was locked in, she realized.

She knocked on the door, but nothing happened. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly two, Zoë would be waking up. She tapped her foot impatiently, and banged on the door. Nothing happened. They must have forgotten her. She banged louder, and called out. This wasn't funny. She wanted to get out of here.

“Hey!” she screamed. “Let me out!”

The door opened.

“It's about time!” she exclaimed angrily.

“Sorry. Had a little problem in cell block ten,” said the grandfatherly guard. “Did you have a nice visit?”

“Yes, I did. Thank you for letting me in.”

“Now, that's something I don't hear too often,” said the guard, giving her a friendly grin.

“I guess it isn't,” agreed Lucy, waiting for him to buzz open the final door. When it sounded, she yanked it open. She couldn't wait to get out into the open and breathe the fresh air.

 

When Lucy got home, she found Toby stretched out on the family room sofa. Bill was sitting in the recliner, with Zoë on his lap. They were all watching cartoons.

Lucy sat down with them, propping her feet on the coffee table.

“How's Mr. C?” asked Toby.

“He's okay,” said Lucy. “He was really happy to get the letters.”

“I wish you'd told me,” said Bill, giving Zoë a little bounce. “I could've gone. The jail is no place for a woman like you.”

Lucy thought of the cribs and toys. “I didn't mind,” she said. “How come you're home so early?”

“Finished up the job.”

“That's nice.” Lucy felt a little stab of guilt. She wondered if he had something else lined up. If not, they would have to tighten their belts for a while. The money she had paid for the course would have come in handy.

“Any word about that Widemeyer bankruptcy?” she asked.

“I don't think I'll ever see that money,” he said.

“Do you want something? I'm going to make some coffee.” Lucy got up.

In the kitchen, she put the kettle on and filled a glass with ginger ale for Toby. Remembering Zoë, she put a little apple juice in a plastic cup for her. Turning to carry them into the family room, she bumped into Bill. He took the drinks out to the kids and returned.

“I thought I'd keep you company,” he said.

Here it comes, she thought, sitting down at the table. He's out of work, we don't have any money, and why the hell have I been carrying on with that professor. She looked up at him, expecting the worst.

He was grinning.

“What are you so happy about?”

“I got a call this morning—you know that old farm on Bumps River Road?”

Lucy knew the farm he was talking about. It included an old house plus a barn and assorted outbuildings, all ready to tumble down in the first strong wind.

“Well, some Hollywood movie producer has bought it and wants me to restore it.” Bill's eyes were bright with excitement.

“Really?” Lucy could hardly believe it.

“Really. He's going to turn the barn into a screening room.”

“That's great. When do you start?”

“Yesterday, according to this guy. He wants it to be ready for next summer.” The whistle on the kettle screamed and Bill turned off the stove.

“Wow,” said Lucy, watching as he spooned instant coffee into two cups. “I hope you're overcharging him shamefully.”

“I'm not working cheap, that's for sure.” He set the cup down in front of her and sat down beside her at the table.

“I'm so relieved,” confessed Lucy. “I've been having second thoughts about spending all that money on my course.”

“Aw, don't worry about money,” he said, covering her hand with his. “You should leave that to me.”

“I was worried because I thought you were worried.” Lucy looked at her coffee.

“I was worried,” he admitted, “but then I figured there wasn't much I could do about it. Either there's work, or there isn't. Worrying doesn't change a thing, and it was keeping me from enjoying all the stuff I've got. Like you, and the kids.”

“I know I've been kind of self-centered lately,” began Lucy.

“I wasn't very understanding,” admitted Bill, lifting his cup and taking a swallow. “I can see that you're ready for a change. You need more than the house and the kids. My mom went squirrelly for a few years there, when I went to college. She should have got a job or something but Dad wouldn't let her. I don't want to do that to you.”

Lucy leaned her head on his shoulder. “You're a good man, Charlie Brown,” she said.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” asked Bill, gently stroking her cheek. “The name's Bill. Bill, not Charlie.”

“Okay, you're a good man, Bill Stone.”

“That's better,” he said, bending down to kiss her.

M
onday morning found Lucy bouncing along in the school bus, wondering what dark masochistic tendency had prompted her to agree to chaperone the eighth-grade field trip to the state university library. Now that she wasn't working, she had plenty of time to serve as a parent volunteer, just as she used to when Elizabeth was in grade school. But this time she didn't think Elizabeth was thrilled about having her mother along. Not that it mattered. Lucy had a motive of her own for coming along—she planned to do some research of her own on Carol Crane's college career.

“Thanks so much for helping out today,” said Mrs. Crowley, the middle school librarian, falling into the seat beside her as the bus turned a corner. “I can't tell you how much I dread this trip.”

“Why is that?”

“It's too long—it's nearly a two-hour drive. The kids are cuckoo by the time we get there.”

“Why do they keep doing it—they go on this trip every year, don't they?”

“That's exactly right—it's a tradition.” Mrs. Crowley rolled her bright blue eyes, which peered at the world over her half-glasses. She wasn't the sort of woman who bothered much about her appearance. Today she was wearing her usual denim skirt and print blouse, with a cotton sweater thrown over her shoulders. She had put lipstick on her top lip but, distracted, had forgotten the bottom. “It was started back in the forties or fifties by Miss Tilley. Do you know who she is?”

“Of course. Miss Tilley was one of the first people I met when we first moved to Tinker's Cove. I went to the library, looking for books on remodeling, and she got me hooked on mysteries. But Miss Tilley was never part of the school system,” said Lucy.

“True. But she has a lot of influence and it was her belief that all Tinker's Cove students should be exposed to a real reference library. So, every year, the entire eighth grade makes this trip to do research for their term papers. At least, that's what they're supposed to do—mostly they sneak off and visit friends or older siblings at the college, or hang out at the student union.”

“Why don't they just go to the Winchester College library? It's a lot closer.”

“Winchester has a good library, for a small liberal arts college, but it's simply not in the same league as the state university,” said Mrs. Crowley. “But if there ever was a year to postpone the trip, this was it.”

“You got off to a rough start,” said Lucy.

“You can say that again,” agreed Mrs. Crowley. “It's taking longer than usual for the kids to settle down and get focused.”

Lucy nodded thoughtfully. “What did you think of Carol Crane?”

“I didn't have too much contact with her.”

“How did Josh get involved with her? Was she over at the high school a lot?”

“Not that I know of. The only time I saw her there was the day the superintendent brought her around and introduced her.” Mrs. Crowley leaned closer to Lucy. “That was odd, if you ask me. Josh's class was in the library, doing research. He didn't pay much attention to her, he was busy helping a student and just gave her a little nod, but I definitely got the impression that she knew him. She didn't say anything, though, so maybe I was wrong.”

“That's funny, isn't it? I mean, usually if you recognize someone, you reintroduce yourself, don't you?”

“Well, I do,” said Mrs. Crowley with a little snort. “But Carol seemed to play the game by her own rules.” She paused, and gave Lucy a little smile. “It made me curious, so I did a little research. I discovered they grew up in the same town—Quivet Neck.”

“How did you find that out?”

“Oh, simple. It was in the town report.”

Lucy felt a bit chagrined. Why hadn't she thought of that? “Did you find anything else out?” she asked.

“Not much. She was making forty-two thousand a year, you know.”

“That's what I heard,” said Lucy, trying to cross her legs, but finding the space between the seats too narrow. “Can't they make these buses more comfortable?” she asked as the driver made another turn and she was thrown against Mrs. Crowley. “Sorry,” she apologized as she regained her balance.

“Only ninety more minutes,” said Mrs. Crowley, ducking as a notebook whizzed past her ear. “Okay, guys!” she yelled, jumping to her feet and facing the students. “Settle down. We'll all be a lot more comfortable if everyone is considerate. I don't want to issue any detentions, so don't make me. Okay?”

This was apparently an effective threat—the kids quieted down. Lucy looked for Elizabeth, and found her sitting with two girlfriends, Melissa Burke and Emily Anderson. Lance was several rows away, sitting with Noah Lenk. Lucy was surprised—even a newcomer couldn't help but be aware that the Lenks were a disreputable clan known for their run-down houses, fierce dogs, and family squabbles that often erupted into violence, landing the participants in jail.

“What do you know about Lance?” Lucy asked Mrs. Crowley.

“Not much. He's a good student—well behaved. I don't have any complaints about him.”

“He and Elizabeth seemed to be something of an item when school opened, but now things seem to have cooled.”

“That's typical—these kids switch partners so fast that I never know who's going with whom.”

“It's just as well,” said Lucy. “They don't have time to get into trouble.”

“Well, I didn't say that,” said Mrs. Crowley, pulling a book catalog out of her bag.

Lucy turned and looked out the window. The leaves were still green, autumn was still a few weeks away, but they had a worn and tired look. Asters were blooming along the road, and spikes of goldenrod added a bit of color. The route to the college was taking them inland, away from the coast, and they passed farms and long stretches of woods.

She massaged her temples, trying to ease the headache that was developing. She didn't think it was simply the result of the noisy kids and the rattling old bus—this was a stress headache and she deserved it. Why had she let herself go so far with Quentin, she asked herself, feeling her cheeks warm as she remembered her visit to his apartment.

Her mind might know what she did was wrong, but her body didn't agree. Feeling the first stirrings of arousal, she shifted in her seat. This was ridiculous—she wasn't a teenager at the mercy of her hormones.

It was more than simple sexual attraction, she told herself. She had been feeling sorry for herself over losing her job. Bill hadn't been very supportive; he had resented her new independence. Even the kids had been especially difficult. Toby was in the throes of adolescence, his voice was changing and he was shaving a couple of times a week, and on top of all that he was upset about Josh Cunningham. And Elizabeth was a worry, especially now that she had been diagnosed with asthma.

Lucy turned again to check on her, and was relieved to find her laughing with her friends. She seemed to be doing fine, but Lucy wasn't convinced she would continue to take her medicine now that her symptoms had disappeared.

“You have to control asthma, or it will control you,” the doctor had warned them, but Lucy doubted that Elizabeth believed it. Well, she'd just have to learn for herself, decided Lucy, thinking wistfully of the days when she had controlled every aspect of her children's lives. At least she had Sara and Zoë, who still thought Mom had all the answers.

Was that it, she asked herself. Was she already suffering from some sort of empty nest syndrome? Is that why she had turned to Quentin?

She could come up with any number of reasons why she was attracted to Quentin, but if she was honest with herself, it was a bit more difficult to understand what he saw in her. She wasn't young anymore and she was preoccupied with her family. Why had he picked her when he could have his pick of hundreds of beautiful young coeds?

He had told her she looked alive and interested, she recalled, smiling at the memory. That's how she liked to think of herself, and she had appreciated the compliment. But come to think of it, how alive and interested did she really look after an hour or so of evening school? It was a line, she realized, embarrassed at her stupidity. He probably told that to all the older students he succeeded in luring to his apartment. A way to flatter them, overcome their resistance, and reel 'em in. How could she have been so gullible?

Arriving in front of the library, the bus braked and came to a stop. Absorbed in her thoughts, Lucy hadn't noticed, and was thrown forward. Mrs. Crowley jumped to her feet.

“Stay in your seats for a moment—I have a few instructions.” She glanced at her watch. “It's almost ten o'clock. That gives us a little more than two hours for research. That's not much time so I advise you not to waste it.” She gave the students a meaningful glance.

“I want you all back here at this exact spot no later than twelve-thirty. That is when we must leave if we are going to be back at the school in time for the buses home. Got that?” She leveled her gaze, moving from face to face.

“Remember—this is a library—I expect you to behave like ladies and gentlemen.” This time she positively glared at them, attempting to etch her instructions on their brains. “All right, we will file off the bus single file and gather on the sidewalk.”

Mrs. Crowley turned and stepped off the bus. The aisle immediately filled with pushing and shoving adolescents who blocked Lucy's exit. She was the last one off and saw that, while most of the students were following Mrs. Crowley, a few renegades were already heading out in different directions. Elizabeth, she saw with some relief, was sticking with the main group, and she followed them into the library.

They were welcomed there by the university librarian, Mr. Plunkett, a rather short, chubby gentlemen with very thick eyeglasses. He explained the function of a reference library in rather more detail than Lucy wanted to know, so she studied the elaborate ceiling murals which depicted various myths, including the rape of Leda by the swan. When the students scattered to pursue their own research, she asked if the library contained copies of the college newspaper.

Mr. Plunkett assured her it did, and gave her directions to the periodicals desk, where she requested issues from the years when Carol Crane was an undergraduate. Knowing her interest for self-promotion, Lucy thought it highly unlikely she had slipped through the university unnoticed.

Lucy was given several boxes containing rolls of microfilm and took them to a reading machine, where she followed the instructions and threaded the film through the mechanism. She was then able to flip through the old issues quite rapidly.

All colleges are the same, she thought, scanning accounts of football triumphs, protests about the food service and lack of parking, and administrative disciplinary actions against unruly fraternities. Campus feminists were also making their views known, and demanding equal opportunities for female students.

There was no mention of Carol Crane, but Lucy thought she might have seen her in a photograph of a “Take Back the Night” march. When she spotted an article detailing a sexual harassment complaint against an instructor, Lucy read closely, sensing an issue tailor-made for Carol.

Sure enough, she was one of four students who had filed a complaint alleging the instructor had behaved in a “sexist manner” in class by presenting “offensive material” and making “inappropriate jokes.” Reading the instructor's name, Lucy gave a little gasp. It was none other than Quentin Rea.

Reading the complaints, Lucy didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The students were reluctant to provide specifics at first, insisting it would be humiliating, but gradually revealed that they objected to the content of an Elizabethan literature course.

“It was terribly embarrassing,” said one student.

“I couldn't believe the four-letter words,” said another.

“I dreaded going to class,” stated a wide-eyed Carol Crane. “It was very stressful.”

At first, Quentin brushed off the complaints, suggesting the students drop Elizabethan literature in favor of something more refined, like Victorian poetry. “The Elizabethans had a very different lifestyle from ours. They emptied their chamber pots out the window, into the street. They nursed their babies, or hired a wetnurse. They lived very public lives in large extended families; everyone in the household shared the same bed,” said Rea. “All this is reflected in their literature.”

His argument made sense to Lucy, but the issue escalated when Carol Crane accused Rea of attempting to seduce her. The case went to a faculty jury, and although Rea was acquitted, his contract was not renewed for the following year.

Suddenly, the letters seemed to jump out at her. This is it, thought Lucy excitedly. This was the connection she'd been looking for. She knew there had to be something more than Quentin was willing to admit between him and Carol. Lucy had suspected an affair, but this, she realized, was worse. Sexual harassment had become a modern witch hunt on some campuses. Hadn't she read recently about a Nobel laureate who had been suspended from his professorship for using language some of his students found offensive?

Carol was looking more and more like the little boy who cried wolf, thought Lucy. Whenever things got a little dull, she got somebody in trouble. It didn't matter who got hurt, as long as she gained some sort of advantage.

It was no wonder she was murdered, thought Lucy. The wonder was that it hadn't happened sooner.

Checking her watch, Lucy realized she would have to hurry if she wanted to get something to eat before the bus left. She reluctantly returned the boxes of film to the reference librarian, wishing she had time for more research, and hurried across the campus to the student union.

Entering the crowded snack bar, she kept an eye peeled for Elizabeth, but didn't see her. Come to think of it, she hadn't seen her in the library either. She did see Elizabeth's buddies, Emily and Melissa, and made her way over to them.