The Grim Steeper: A Teapot Collector Mystery (23 page)

Sophie sat sideways on the bench and watched her, seeing the frosty exterior as a cloak now, a cover to keep from caring, or at least to keep people from knowing she cared. “I’m so sorry. I truly am. No one can know how you feel but you.” She waited a moment. “I know you are . . . uh, friends with Paul Wechsler. Nobody seems to know where he is today. Where could he be?”

Tears welled in her gray eyes and she shook her head. She pushed back her shoulder-length silvery hair, tucking it behind her ears. Reaching in her purse, she drew out a tissue and blotted her eyes carefully, trying not to dab away her pale blue eyeliner. “After he crashed the car yesterday, we had a bit of a fight and I didn’t see him last night. I told him I had things to do. And now he’s not answering his phone, he’s not at home, he’s . . . I don’t know where.”

Sophie had a gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach. Her suspicion of the registrar was growing, and with it, her fear for Paul. She’d have to tell someone; she just had to. But not Jeanette Asquith, not until she knew more. “Have you called his friends, or family?”

She shook her head. “What would I say? They don’t know about us.”

“Mrs. Asquith . . . may I call you Jeanette?”

She nodded.

“Did he share anything about this grade-change scandal with you? I happen to know Paul was looking into it for your husband, and I overheard him saying some stuff to him that night, the night your husband was murdered.”

She swallowed back her sobs and nodded, blew her nose, tucked the tissue back in her handbag and cleared her throat. “Dale asked to speak with him late last week. He had Paul go through every mark given and trace the computer trail. I don’t pretend to understand. At the time I thought it was Dale’s way of being nasty, because I told him Paul and I were going away over Christmas and he could go to his family gathering, which I loathe, alone.”

“But?”

“But Paul told me Dale actually said he trusted him. He didn’t want to bring in an outsider, and he wanted to be able to reassure the Board of Governors and President Schroeder that he had it all under control.”

“I’ve heard some stuff that makes me wonder if Paul originally told him one person was the guilty party, and then later changed his mind.”

“No, not at all. Paul told him one of two people were most likely to have changed the grade, but because of some security issue he had discovered, he wasn’t sure, and that Dale would have to wait. But stupid Dale . . . so sure of himself. So self-important. He thought he could pressure Paul into bringing him the name by Monday morning, so he made that stupid announcement.”

“It was like asking to be killed before Monday morning, if it was that serious an issue,” Sophie said. “I spoke with Paul briefly and he indicated that he had discovered a pattern of grade changes except for one anomaly. What was that? Do you know?”

She nodded. “Cruickshank apparently has an Olympic hopeful in its ranks of athletes.”

When she told Sophie the sport, it was not a surprise. Some things were beginning to make sense in a way she had not expected, though there were still a few loose ends, things she didn’t understand. “Has he spoken to the police about any of this yet?”

“No, he was supposed to be going there yesterday at some point, but I don’t think he made it. He was upset when we last spoke.”

“Mrs. Asquith, I have to ask something. I hope you don’t get offended, but someone overheard you saying something that night, something . . . well, I didn’t know what to make of it. You were on your cell phone and said something about getting something done before you ran out of time. What was that about?”

The woman looked mystified for a moment, before a ghostly smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “Ah, yes, I know what you mean. I was speaking to my antiques dealer. He’s having a Louis Quatorze sideboard refinished for me, and I needed him to get it done before Thanksgiving.” She shook her head. “It seemed so important at the time. I always have people at the house for Thanksgiving, and I wanted it done to showcase the Sevres.”

It figured that something so ominous sounding would turn out to be innocent. Sophie made a quick decision that went against her promise to Brenda, but she felt justified. A man’s life may be at stake and that mattered more than anything. She told Jeanette what she had heard, that a witness reported last seeing Paul Wechsler in Vince Nomuro’s car. She recommended that Jeanette go to the police and file a missing person’s report on her boyfriend. They might not be able to do anything, but since they had information that
he was involved in the evidence collecting for the grading scandal, they just might. Paul had information, and the police needed to speak with him; that would prompt them to search for the systems engineer.

Jeanette sped off in her sedan. Her sports car was likely to be in the shop indefinitely, given how complicated repairs on foreign cars could be.

Her sports car, which Paul had been borrowing. Sophie remembered the night of the murder, and the sound of a sporty car revving around the time of the murder. Something Josh said came back to her. If what she suspected was true, then she now knew who the killer was.

The more she thought about it, the more certain she was of her theory. But what to do? Just turn the info over to the police? She knew how good the police were at doing their jobs. She had nothing against them, but she also felt that sometimes her ability to circumvent the rules allowed her to uncover the truth much more quickly.

How much better would it be if she could enlist her friends to set the killer up to exposure? She nodded. SereniTea, in this instance, would be the perfect place. She left a message on Jason’s phone, and decided to head back to Auntie Rose’s.

*   *   *

T
helma was playing with her phone again, but it was hopeless. The only thing she had figured out with any surety was the danged camera function, but the stupid thing had a camera on both sides, because along with some photos of Gilda’s big bottom were a few fuzzy- and wrinkly-looking ones of what Thelma had at long last concluded were of her: a jowl with a few hairs sprouting, a double chin, and a bleary eye set in wrinkled folds of skin.

She had also finally figured out how to scan through the photos. Aha! There were the ones she remembered taking after the tea stroll from her bedroom window on the front of the house down to the street, which had been kinda dark. She was just able to make out a little car in one, and two figures together in another.

“Gilda!” she hollered.

“What do you want?” Gilda asked, tottering into the room on new two-inch heels.

Thelma stared. “What are you all gussied up for? Never mind.” She picked up the phone and stared at a picture. “Look, this is you the night of the tea thingie, when you were taking out the garbage. Remember? Well, I took some photos before that, while you did it, and later, trying to get the hang of this. Do you see the car?”

Gilda got close and brought up her cheaters, which dangled around her neck on a fancy string of beads like some useful version of a necklace. “Yeah. I see it.”

“And the next picture, do you see those two people?”

Gilda stared again. “Yeah. I still can’t believe you sent me out knowing someone was lurking! I could have been jumped and murdered, or worse!”

“Stop whining. Nothing happened, did it?”

Gilda tottered to the back door where there was a mirror on the wall and pulled an orange-colored lip balm out of her purse. She stroked some on her lips.

“Where are you going anyway?”

She stuck up her nose, snooty as could be, and said, “Out. With friends.” She tottered out the door.

Thelma stared closer at the pictures, but couldn’t be sure of what she was seeing. Her vision was not what it used to be. There was only one thing
to
do. She grabbed the real
phone, the reliable one that didn’t take a college degree in computers to work, and called Cissy.

*   *   *

R
ose was working on the accounting and sighed at the end of a long line of numbers. She sure hoped they could open again, and soon. Not because they were losing money—though they were—but because she didn’t know what to do with her time. They had cleaned the place from top to bottom, and taken inventory. And now she was lost. Laverne had gone home to give her father something to eat, after which she, Gilda, and Laverne’s father, Malcolm, would be going to the Tuesday night church social.

Wherever Sophie was, Rose hoped she was safe. Her granddaughter had inherited her uncle Jack’s adventurous spirit, the resolve that had sent him, after they lost her other son, Harold Junior, to the Vietnam War, to the West Coast to join the antiwar protests. He got lost along the way, his ideals tainted by drugs and a broken heart. His brother was everything to Jack, and losing him changed him forever. Sometimes it felt like sorrow would close around Rose’s heart and smother it, but then she stiffened her spine and remembered Rosalind and her wonderful grandchildren, especially her own darling Sophie.

The phone rang. “Auntie Rose’s Victorian Tea House. How may I help you?” It came automatic after so many years.

“Is Sophie there?” It was a young woman’s voice.

“No, I’m sorry, she’s not. May I ask who’s calling?”

There was a moment of hesitation. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“No. May I take a message?”

“Can you tell her Kimmy called? Kimmy Gabrielson.
I’ve got some information, and I’m not sure what to do about it. I need someone to trust, someone who isn’t connected with the college.” Her voice held a note of desperation. “She seemed determined to get to the bottom of things.”

“Oh, honey, maybe you should tell me so I can tell her?”

“No, I can’t do that.”

“No hints?”

“I saw something weird, and I need to talk to her. I tried her cell, but she’s not answering. I didn’t leave a message because I didn’t know what to say. When you see her, tell her to call me right away. She has my number.”

“Honey, are you okay? Kimmy? I’m worried about you. Are you all right?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to see someone right now to try to straighten things out. Just give Sophie that message.” The line went dead.

Chapter 22

T
he day had wasted away. It was late afternoon and Sophie felt exhausted. She had been asked to stop at the police station, but if she went there it would take hours to tell them everything she was thinking, had conjectured and was wondering about. It would have to wait. She was determined to get down to the truth, now that she had an idea what it was. She entered through the back door to be met by Nana, who was pacing, with Pearl at her feet.

“Oh, Sophie, I was so worried. I tried calling your cell phone. Why didn’t you answer?”

Sophie grasped Nana’s forearms and made her sit down, concerned about how pale her grandmother looked. “I was in the car. I never answer while driving, you know that.”

Nana nodded. “Of course. Kimmy Gabrielson called. She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, but asked if you could call her. She said something that worried me a bit; she said she was going to see someone right then to try to straighten things out.”

“That doesn’t sound too worrisome.”

“You didn’t hear her tone. She was . . . puzzled. And upset.”

Sophie eyed her grandmother and nodded. Nana had excellent people skills and was empathetic, which meant she must have sensed something over the phone line to be so worried about it. “What specifically are you worried about?”

Nana picked Pearl up and cradled the cat in her arms. “That she was upset by whatever she saw, and yet was going ahead to talk to whomever it was that was involved.”

Sophie pulled her phone out of her purse and checked it; Kimmy had tried to call multiple times, but whenever she was in the car driving Sophie ignored the phone. She hit the call button, but this time it was Kimmy who wasn’t answering. She left a message to call her, saying, “Hey, Kimmy, it’s Sophie. My grandmother was concerned about your call. Is everything okay? Call me back as soon as you can.”

There was a tap at the kitchen door, and Sophie hopped over to answer it. Cissy Peterson, a cell phone in one hand and her other arm supporting Thelma, said, “Can we come in? Grandma needs to show you something.”

Sophie pulled Cissy into the warm kitchen; the poor girl was shivering. She was always shivering if so much as a mild breeze was blowing. Thelma toddled in after her, and Sophie guided both women over to the small table and made them sit down. Thelma was oddly withdrawn, and Cissy abnormally buoyant.

“What’s up?” Sophie asked.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Cissy said. She played with the cell phone for a moment, bringing up images. “Grandma can’t figure out how to use this as a phone, but she sure has figured out how to take photos, even when she doesn’t know she’s taking photos. She took these from her second-floor window the night of the tea stroll, after everyone had
gone, before she sent Gilda out to do the garbage. What do you think?”

Sophie held it so Nana could see the screen. “It’s hard to tell what any of that is,” she said. “Wait, I think I can zoom in on this picture. Or even better . . .” She raced upstairs to her desk and linked the phone and her printer, then printed off the photos. By the time she came back down, Nana had hot cups of Auntie Rose’s Tea-riffic tea blend sitting in front of Cissy and Thelma. Sophie plunked the photos down on the table. “These are grainy, but . . . oh, good lord!” she said, staring more closely at the pictures, two in particular.

“What is it?” Cissy and Nana said simultaneously as Thelma grunted.

Sophie got a pen and circled something in the passenger side seat of the sports car she had heard that very night, and which was parked at the far curb. “Look at that, sticking up;
that
is the weapon, or at least a part of the weapon.” She circled a section of another photo of two people in an embrace of sorts. Sophie shivered and pointed her pen to the circle. “And that is a killer and murder victim. Dean Asquith never saw it coming.”

The other women stared at it, and Nana got it after a moment. “I think we know who that is,” she said, and named the killer.

Sophie nodded. “You’re right, Nana. Mrs. Earnshaw, you’re a genius, and you may have given us proof that the police can’t ignore.” She took the older woman’s hand. “Thank you for this.”

Mrs. Earnshaw nodded. “I’m glad it helps. Couldn’t make hide nor hair of who it was myself, but you seem to know them all better than me. I’m glad because . . . well, because I know I caused you mischief with the salt in the sugar packets.”

“Why on earth did you do it?” Nana asked.

Mrs. Earnshaw shook her head. “I don’t know. Sometimes I swear, I see the world like it’s turned upside down.”

Sophie kept her mouth shut. After years of managing employees, she felt like she’d attained some insight into human behavior; for some it was virtually impossible to release a grudge, no matter how old. She had her theories as to why Thelma did what she did—it involved old unresolved jealousy of Nana—but it wouldn’t do any good to rehash that distant past once again. Everyone thought that by talking things out they could dismiss old problems, but for some folks that didn’t work. That was true of Thelma Mae Earnshaw, still holding on to the sixty-year-old grievance that Rose stole her supposed beau.

The photos were too grainy and too far away for anyone but those who knew what they were looking at to decipher. Cissy went back to Belle Époque, taking the photos and her grandmother with her. She was going to call Wally, who was at home right then, and tell him Sophie’s plan at just the right time. Sophie would let her know when.

Nana was worried; Sophie could tell. But she would never stop her granddaughter from doing what she thought right. When Sophie graduated from high school Nana was the one constant, unwavering source of support for all her plans and dreams of culinary school and opening a restaurant.

Her mother had always said that Sophie inherited her father’s business drive. She had certainly listened to him anytime he talked; those moments were precious to her, the longing to have his approval was constant in her teen years. Something he once told her had stuck; he said that in every case when he thought he was right, he preferred to beg for forgiveness
after
doing something, than ask for permission
before
doing it.

She was putting that into action. Sophie left a message
on Josh’s cell phone to call her as soon as he was able, then phoned Julia and explained what she now knew and what she planned, if Julia was willing to help.

“Oh, my goodness . . . are you sure? I mean, can that be true? I never would have expected this.”

“I’m pretty positive, but what alarms me most is that Paul Wechsler is missing and I’m concerned about the message from Kimmy Gabrielson, who is
not
answering my calls. I think we need to act on this right away so nobody else gets hurt. I know the police should be involved, but I’m afraid if they take control, they’ll have to wait for warrants and subpoenas, and I’m scared to death when we have a human life, and maybe two, hanging in the balance.” She paused, thought it through, then said, “But can you do your part if we do this my way? Can you play it off?”

“If what you’re telling me is true, then I will do it, and I’ll do it well. In my misspent youth I was actually in, among other works, a rather awful off-off-Broadway play about a girl who manipulated people into giving her exactly what she needed. I was very Method; my parents still remember it as their six months of hell, because I lived in that bitchy girl’s skin. I did a lot of research, and tried out some of the techniques on people. I can do this.”

“But do you
want
to?” Sophie persisted. She was beginning to get cold feet. She could back out now, give all the information to Detective Morris and . . . and what? Wait while the detective and the DA decided if they had enough to nail the killer? Worry about Paul Wechsler, who no one had seen or heard from in twenty-four hours? Try to find Kimmy Gabrielson, who had gone off to who knows where? Her resolve hardened, but still . . . “I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way, Julia; not for the world. I’d never forgive—”

“Sophie, this is
my
choice. The police could investigate
this and likely make the arrest, or at least,
try
to make the arrest, but if we can provide them with a stronger case without it seeming like entrapment, I’m willing to do my part. What if you’re right and Paul Wechsler is in danger?”

They set it up, and Julia made the calls that she needed to make, then reported back to Sophie that it was done. The meeting was set.

“Really?” Sophia asked. “It was that easy?”

“It was. But I think I’m being set up, if you wanted to know the truth. I said I wanted to get in on the bribery action. Our culprit is canny and insisted on knowing how I figured it all out. I said I wouldn’t talk until we met face-to-face.”

Sophie had an uneasy feeling in her gut, a heck of a time for that to start acting up. “It’s not too late to back out, you know. In fact . . . Julia, we need to shut this down,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m going to call the police and—”

“No!” Julia said. “If you do that, I’ll set up the meeting for right now and do this on my own. We are going ahead.”

Alarm growing, Sophie tried to talk her out of it, but ultimately she knew that the professor would be safer if they went ahead as Sophie had planned, because she had backup built into the plot. Over the next few hours she prepared and finally heard back from both Josh, whose technical ability was vital to the plan, and Jason, who was going to be Sophie’s escort.

He listened as she explained the plan, and then burst out, “Sophie, that is
insane
! How could you put Julia in danger like this?”

“I’ve had second thoughts about it. Jase, I
tried
to call it off, but Julia won’t let me. She threatened to go ahead alone. The only thing we can do now is be the safety net and get it right.”

“No, there’s another way.
I
can be the pigeon. I’ll meet the lunatic and say I’m looking to get in on the action.”

“That won’t work, and you know it,” Sophie said, pacing in her apartment, and then ducking to glance out the window in her front-facing bedroom. “You were set up to be the fall guy from the beginning; there’s no way you’d turn around and want in on the action.” She glanced at her alarm clock. “Time is too tight now to change it up. Josh is all set. You need to meet me there in half an hour so we can set everything up, make sure it’s right.” There was silence for a long minute, and Sophie felt everything hanging in the balance, including her future relationship with Jason. “Please, Jase! I know you don’t like this, but now that we’ve committed to it, it’s important to keep Julia protected.”

“If Julia can’t be dissuaded, then we’ll work together to make sure she’s safe.”

“I hope you know I never intended to put Julia in harm’s way. I should
never
have gone to her like I did; I should have waited until I could run it past you. But now she won’t back down. I’m sorry. I really am.”

“I know. We’ll have to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

*   *   *

S
ophie supervised the setup at SereniTea, but she hadn’t been able to eat dinner when they came back to Auntie Rose’s. Jason had wolfed down a few sandwiches. He had some course work on his laptop that he was checking over. He explained that in his course he left it optional to his students to submit their work on paper or electronically, but that he was going to change in future to all electronic. That way he could demand that his students run their work through a plagiarism-checking software. He had been too trusting for too long, and had recently become aware that some of his students were even paying others to do their
essays for them. He had been naive, thinking he was being watchful enough, but no more.

Sophie half listened, anxiously watching the clock. Nana, luckily, seemed distracted and spent the time on the phone and fussing around up in her own apartment. Sophie paced, ran upstairs to change her clothes into dark yoga pants and a sweatshirt, raced back downstairs and resumed pacing. But finally, it was time to move.

When they emerged from Auntie Rose’s in the twilight, they were witness to an awesome sight. Their street was often populated by folks walking dogs or out strolling; that was not so unusual. But tonight it was who was there that was strange. Two elderly gentlemen (Malcolm Hodge and Horace Brubaker) helped Mr. Bellows, who leaned on a rollator walker as they strolled slowly up the street, in the direction of SereniTea. Nana was outside of Belle Époque having a heated argument with Thelma Mae Earnshaw, who had a large purse over her arm. Laverne pulled up to the tearoom with Gilda Bachman in her passenger seat.

Sophie stopped dead. “Oh, my heavens! We have the Silver Spouts Investigative Team in full battle readiness.”

Jason stifled a laugh as he took Sophie’s hand. “Indeed we do.”

“I wish they weren’t doing this, but you cannot keep those folks down.”

They walked up the hill, slipped into SereniTea, and concealed themselves in the private tearoom that shared a wall with the office. Josh had wired in a simple recording setup, and borrowed from his school’s audio video club some pairs of wireless headphones for Sophie, Jason, and himself, of course, because he would
not
be left out. Sophie had the cold shuddering horrors as she realized what she had done, dragging a pregnant woman, a teenage boy, her
kinda-sorta boyfriend and even—inadvertently—a collection of oldsters into her mad scheme to out the villain.