The Perfect Coed (Oak Grove Mysteries Book 1) (17 page)

“Eric didn’t do it,” she said, without even saying “hello.”

“Nice to talk to you too, Susan,” he replied. “I can’t guess what’s on your mind.”

“You’ve got to find out about that red-haired stranger… or go to Jordan with the story.”

“Susan, there you go again. I’m working on it, and to tell the truth, I’m not going to Jordan because it would cause a scandal for the school.”

“You’re withholding evidence,” Susan said, her voice rising in alarm.

“No,” he replied patiently, “I’m withholding your wild suspicions.” He paused, and Susan could hear him take a deep breath. “Susan,” he said slowly, “Dirk Jordan is talking about a search warrant.”

“What’s he want to search?”

“Your house and your office.”

“My house? For a baseball bat?” Susan was furious. “He should be out finding out who the killer is, and he’s wasting time looking at me?”

“You’re not the only one who thinks he should be finding out who the killer is,” Jake said wryly. “He’s been getting pressure from the girl’s parents and Eric Lindler. Jordan says Lindler is pushing him about the search warrants.”

“Eric? I thought he was my friend. I thought he was indignant that any suspicion was cast on me.”

“I thought so too,” Jake said, again speaking slowly, as if he were thinking and talking simultaneously. “I can’t quite figure it all out. Anyway, this is Saturday, so they probably won’t be there until Monday. I don’t figure Jordan thinks it’s a rush.”

“Well, they better search Eric’s dorm room too,” Susan said and slammed down the phone.

Jake winced on the other end. Second time this week she’s shot the messenger, he told himself.

Susan made her way on crutches to the deck to join Aunt Jenny. While the older woman chatted about Indian summer and how she thought she’d try going to the Oak Grove Christian Church this Sunday and whether or not Jake would like chicken or pot roast better for dinner, Susan stared into space.

* * *

Aunt Jenny told Susan the next morning that she’d not only attend church services, but she’d go to the seniors Sunday school class. “If it’s a bunch of boring old people, I won’t go again.”

Susan noticed her aunt dressed with care in her best suit-dress, an avocado-green affair with brass buttons that had made Susan bite her tongue as she said, “How nice you look, Aunt Jenny,” remembering the days when Aunt Jenny wouldn’t dream of going to church without white gloves and a nice small hat. Aunt Jenny picked up her practical brown handbag—which did not go with her practical black shoes with one-inch heels—and headed out the door.

“I’ll be back right after church,” she said to Susan. “You’ll be all right?”

“Of course,” Susan said. “Jake will come by before you get home, I bet.”

Aunt Jenny smiled benevolently and went out to the street where her car was parked. When she put it in gear and stepped on the gas, she took off with a squeal that made Susan wince.

Jake came over about noon, expecting Aunt Jenny to fix lunch.

“She should be home any time,” Susan told him. “She just went to church.”

“I’ll make tuna sandwiches,” he said.

Jake was the only man Susan had ever known who not only liked tuna salad, but he made a great version. This time he put a thick layer of tuna between slices of good rye bread, added pickles on the side, and served the plates with a flourish—and a beer for him and white wine for Susan. They ate on the deck, but Susan began to fret.

“Where could Aunt Jenny be? Did she get lost between here and church? Jake, church has been out for an hour.”

He was unconcerned. “Aunt Jenny can take care of herself. And if she needs us she’ll call.”

“That’s another thing. She doesn’t have a cell phone. Calls them newfangled gadgets. What if she’s lost on some highway out in the country? She has no way to call.”

“Susan,” he sighed patiently, “stop worrying. Aunt Jenny will be here when she’s here. If she doesn’t come in time to cook dinner, I’ll go get steaks.”

It was almost two-thirty in the afternoon when Aunt Jenny breezed in and found them still on the deck, Susan on her second wine.

“Where have you been? I’ve been frantic with worry. How can you take four hours to go to Sunday school and church?”

Jake, still occupied with the Sunday paper, wished he could disappear. Susan made a strangling noise when she saw a man behind Aunt Jenny.

Aunt Jenny gathered her courage and said, “John, this is my niece, Susan Hogan.”

Susan turned so that she could hold out her hand, but John Jackson was staring at her.

“Susan Hogan?” he asked. “The one who’s all but indicted for killing that girl?”

Red spread across her face as Susan said, “I guess that’s me.”

He stared at her a long time, as though measuring her. Finally, he asked, “You do it?”

She stared back and saw a man she could respect and trust. “No, sir, I did not.”

“Didn’t think so,” he said, “but they’ve sure got to pin this one on someone quick. You watch yourself, girl.”

Before Susan could say any more, Jake rose and came forward to introduce himself. When he said, “Jake Phillips, sir, pleased to meet you,” the older man replied, “Judge John Jackson, son, and it’s my pleasure.”

Susan stood with her mouth open. Where had Aunt Jenny found a judge? And why had she brought him home with her? All of Susan’s worry and anger at Aunt Jenny’s lateness disappeared.

Judge Jackson stayed for a cup of coffee. When Jake offered him a shot of bourbon, he grinned and said, “Wish I could, son, but it’s a mite early in the day for an old man like me.” Jake had his coffee straight too.

The four of them sat on Susan’s deck and talked about everything but the murder, for which Susan was glad. Judge Jackson told them that Aunt Jenny was the first woman with an ounce of sense who had come to the senior class in two years, and he couldn’t resist asking her to Sunday dinner. He hoped Susan wasn’t too angry.

“Oh, go on with you,” Aunt Jenny said, blushing and making a gesture as though to push away his flattery.

Susan assured him it was all right. “Aunt Jenny disappears sometimes,” Susan said, “and I worry about her.”

“I’ll try to see you have no more cause to worry,” the judge said gallantly. Then he sobered, “I expect you’ve got enough to worry about anyway. If I can help you, girl, you let me know.” He fished in his pocket and produced a dog-eared business card that had simply his name and phone number.

“Thanks,” Susan said, taking the card casually. She didn’t expect to need the advice of a retired judge.

After the judge left, Jake looked at Aunt Jenny a minute and then asked her, “Where is your car? Did you forget it at the church?”

Aunt Jenny shook her head firmly. “I did not forget it. I left it there on purpose. I had my own reasons.”

Getting Judge Jackson to meet me,
Susan thought and was for a moment amazed at the scheming nature of her supposedly dithery aunt. “Aunt Jenny, tell us about church.”

“The seniors class was disappointing,” her aunt said. “Several old couples, three overweight women who banded together and stared at me, and one lone man who seemed to be sleeping through the lesson on the Minor Prophets. I sat next to him, as far as possible from the three women. Every once in a while, the man nodded, as though agreeing with the discussion leader, and at least twice he stared at me.”

Susan sighed. Aunt Jenny’s version of the story was long-winded.

“I decided he was not asleep but merely listening with his eyes closed. He looked fairly tall, though hunched down in his chair as he was, I couldn’t tell for sure. His hair was silver gray, the kind that must have once been coal black and turned gray nicely, not like mine that simply turned sort of watery yellow-gray. I thought he looked like a nice man to know.”

“The beginning of a romance,” Jake said dramatically. “Go on. Tell us the rest.”

“Jake Phillips, it’s not a romance. He’s simply a nice, interesting man. And being a judge… well, I thought I should explore.” Then she hastily added, “Because of Susan, of course.”

But Susan caught her unconsciously fluffing her hair.

“After the class,” Aunt Jenny went on, “he reached out a hand to welcome me. Told me his name, and I screeched because I thought he was related to that poor dead girl.” Her face turned red. “Everyone who was about to leave the room turned to stare at me.”

‘“And?” Susan asked. “Tell me he’s not.”

“No. He said, ‘That girl? What girl?’ Then finally, he said, ‘Oh, the coed that was murdered. No, no relation. Common name, that’s all. Why?’ I didn’t want to tell him so I just said she’d been on my mind. And when he asked my name, I didn’t want to tell him the last name because I figured he’d identify me with Susan and it was too early for that. He asked me to sit in church with him, and I was glad for the company.”

“So church was out at noon,” Susan said, “and you didn’t get home until after two.”

Aunt Jenny positively beamed. “After the benediction, he suggested lunch at Luby’s Cafeteria on the highway. He said he always gets turkey on Sunday, so I got turkey, though I really would have preferred roast beef. Over dinner, he told me that he had lost his wife of fifty-two years some eighteen months ago and was still trying to learn to live alone. But when he told me he’d been a state court judge for thirty years, I really paid attention. He may be of help to you, Susan.”

Jake took Aunt Jenny to retrieve the car.

When she came back, Aunt Jenny said, “Oh my, I haven’t even thought about supper.”

“Steak,” Jake said. “I’m on it.” And went to the grocery.

Chapter Ten

Ellen Peck was at Susan’s house Monday morning when two uniformed officers came, unannounced but not unexpected, with a search warrant. They were followed by Dirk Jordan, who apparently arrived in a separate car. Susan had intended to go back to work that day but the expected search of her house made her postpone her return to campus one day. She called Mildred in Dr. Scott’s office and told her she wouldn’t be in for one more day.

“You just take all the time you need, Dr. Hogan,” Mildred said in a voice that dripped with imitation sugar.

“Who does she think she is, giving me permission?” Susan ranted aloud, though no one was around to hear or to answer the question.

Ellen had arrived waving a copy of the
Daily News,
the student newspaper. “Today’s paper,” she said, shoving it at Susan. “I figured Jake probably never reads it and wouldn’t bring it to you.”

Centered on the front page right under the headline was a picture of Susan lying trapped under the moped. In the background a few students could be seen hanging around, and Seymour was kneeling by Susan. Jake was nowhere in sight. A boldface cutline read, “English Prof Crashes.” Susan groaned. “So much for not telling Scott how I broke my ankle,” she said.

“Oh, he guessed immediately,” Ellen said without much sympathy. “And nothing stays secret on a college campus. You know that.”

“I guess,” Susan said, staring morosely at the picture. “The photographer got there pretty quick. Looks like he beat Jake, but I didn’t see him—or her. I guess my mind was pretty well occupied with my leg and getting out from under the damn moped, but still…”

“That’s how the
Daily News
operates,” Ellen said cheerily. “Never there when you want them, always when you don’t want them. And they never get the facts straight, unless you particularly don’t want them to. Then they’re eligible for a Pulitzer.”

Susan grinned a little, appreciating Ellen’s attempt to lift her spirits. She wondered how much Ernie Westin had to do with the picture getting on the front page of the paper. He was, she remembered, friendly with the journalism professor who directed the student newspaper.

“I taught your women’s lit survey class Friday, and just to impress them I took roll. Brandy Perkins was the only one absent.”

Susan made a note to check on Brandy. She was worried about the girl—even without knowing that Jake, too, was worried. Meantime, to Ellen, she said, “Great. If you’d take it again today, I’ll be back in full swing tomorrow. Got to get this search thing over with.”

“What search thing?” Ellen asked, just as the front doorbell rang. Ellen went to answer it, looking out through the glass front door as she crossed the living room. “Susan, what are policemen doing here?” she called out.

“That’s the search thing,” Susan answered, hobbling behind her. “Jake told me Saturday they’d gotten a search warrant to go through my house and my office. Won’t Scott love it when they show up at the English department?” Her light tone masked a deep sense of fear. She knew they wouldn’t find anything, but the invasion unnerved her.

“A search warrant!” Ellen’s voice was angry as she went to the door and opened it. She stood, hands on her hips, looking at an officer who towered over her.

“Susan Hogan?” The man’s voice was tense. “Got a search warrant here.”

While Ellen gestured in her direction, Susan said, “I’m Susan Hogan. Show me the warrant.” She wouldn’t know any more after looking at it than she did before, but she felt she ought to demand to see it.

“Officer O’Donnell, Oak Grove Police Department, ma’am. Need to search the premises, ma’am,” he said, handing her the paper. “Lieutenant Jordan will be right here.”

Susan pretended to read, though the words swam in front of her eyes. She pictured strange men pawing through her underwear drawer, cataloging the outdated prescriptions in the medicine chest, laughing at the leftovers Aunt Jenny had put in the back of the refrigerator. “Go ahead. Try not to disturb anything.” She fought to keep her voice level.

“Yes, ma’am. We’ll be careful, but we’ll need to ask you to step out of the house.” He looked at her crutches. “You need help, ma’am?”

“No. I can make it by myself.” Susan was too proud to accept the offered hand.

O’Donnell handed her the crutches and mumbled, “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Dr. Hogan.”

Ellen said, “Let’s go have a cup of coffee. My treat.”

By now, one officer was busily moving things about in the pantry, and the other was searching the refrigerator. Susan wanted to ask if he really thought he’d find a baseball bat in the refrigerator.